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LEADERS  UPWARD  AND  ONWARD 


r<;kit  17, 


LEADERS  UPWARD 
AND  ONWARD 

BRIEF  BIOGRAPHIES  OF  NOBLE  WORKERS 


EDITED   BY 

HENRY     C.     E  W  A  R  T 

WITH  EIGHTY  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW    YORK 
THOMAS     WHITTAKER 

2  &  3  BIBLE  HOUSE 
1889 


'Jl 

a- 

V 
01 

rO 


CONTENTS. 


I.     INTRODUCTION. 

By  Henry  C.  Ewart     ..,,•.        13 

II.    CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

By  Alexander  H.  Japp,  LL.D 17 

III.    DEAN  STANLEY. 

By  Professor  R.  H.  Story,  D.D.  .        ,        .        .        63 


IV.     FREDERICK  DENISON   ^LAURICE. 
By  Henry  C.  Ewart     , 

^^         V.    ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

-:-  By  the  Bishop  of  Dover 

^       VI.    BISHOP  ERASER. 

By  Mary  Harrison 


•       >       I        • 


•       I        •       I       • 


95 


123 


157 


VII.     Dr.  ARNOLD. 

By  Henry  C.  Ewart    , 


•       I       •       • 


10488 5 


177 


CONTENTS. 


FAGS 


VIII.     EDWARD   IRVING. 

By  Norman  J.  Ross  i93 

IX.    NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

By  Walter  C.  Smith,  D.D.         .        .        ,       .      221 

X.    THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

By  Professor  W.  G.  Blaikie,  D.D  ,  LL.D.  .        .      267 

XI.     PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 

By  Donald  Macleod,  D.D. 
'  Editor  of  "Good  Words"  .         •        .        •       3^5 

XIL     JOHN   CURWEN. 

By  Norman  J.  Ross 335 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 

PORTRAIT      ....  5  » 

DARTMOOR  

WINTER  IN  THE  FENS 

THE  QUAY,    CLOVELLY 

THE  BEACH,    CLOVELLY       . 

EVERSLEY  CHURCH       .  .... 

EVERSLEY  RECTORY     .... 

CLOISTER   COURT,    CHESTER    CATHEDRAL 

HEREWARD'S   FUNERAL 

KINGSLEY'S  GRAVE   AT  EVERSLEY       . 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 

21 
23 
24 
25 

33 
39 
44 
53 
6i 


DEAN   STANLEY. 

DEAN   STANLEY'S   FATHER  .  . 

HALL,    CHRIST   CHURCH,    OXFORD 
TOM  TOWER,    CHRIST   CHURCH,    OXFORD 
CLOISTERS,    CHRIST  CHURCH,    OXFORD 

PORTRAIT     

WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,    FROM  THE   SOUTH-EAST 
OLD  TOM  AT  OXFORD 


67 
69 

71 

73 
81 
89 
94 


FREDERICK   DENISON   l^LAURICE. 

PORTRAITS    .  ,  .  .  . 

LINCOLN'S  INN  GATEWAY  . 


99.  "9 

•         122 


10 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

ADDINGTON   CHURCH  . 
THE  OLD  COLLEGE,    GLASGOW 
BALLIOL   COLLEGE,    OXFORD 
PORTRAIT     .... 
CHOIR,    CARLISLE  CATHEDRAL 
IN  THE  GROUNDS   AT   FULHAM 
CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL 
LAMBETH  PALACE  FROM  THE  RIVER 
CANTERBURY  FROM  THE  NORTH-EAST 


BISHOP  FRASER. 

PORTRAIT      .... 
A  MANCHESTER   WAREHOUSE 


DR.  ARNOLD. 

TRINITY    CHAPEL,    OXFORD 
RUGBY  CHAPEL    . 
INTERIOR  OF   RUGBY   CHAPEL 
PORTRAIT      .... 


EDWARD  IRVING. 

A  GLASGOW  SLUM         .  .         • 

PORTRAIT      

THE  GARE-LOCH  .  . 

CRYPT  OF  GLASGOW   CATHEDRAL 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

HIGHLAND   COTTAGE •>  * 

HIGHLAND  BOAT 

"A  BUT  AND   A   BEN  " 

LOOKING  WESTWARD   FROM   MORVEN 

PORTRAIT 

EXTERIOR   OF   GLASGOW   CATHEDRAL 

INTERIOR  OF  GLASGOW  CATHEDRAL  .... 

HIGH  STREET,    GLASGOW,    NEAR   THE   BARONY   CHURCH 

BALMORAL  CASTLE        

CRATHIE  CHURCH  

THE  BACK  STUDY  , 

THE  MASTER  OF  THE   HORSE  IN   PALESTINE       . 
NORMAN  MACLEOD'S  GRAVE  AT  CAMPSTE  . 
TANTALLON  CASTLE 


126 
128 
130 
133 
137 
140 

143 
147 

167 

183 
185 
187 
189 


202 
209 
213 
218 


229 
230 
231 
233 
239 
241 

243 

247 
249 

257 
261 
265 
266 


LIST  OF  ILL  USTRA  TIONS.  1 1 

PAGE 

THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

BRECHIN   CATHEDRAL            .          .          .          .           t          .           .  27I 

ARBIRLOT  CHURCH 273 

ARBIRLOT  MANSE 277 

THE  COWGATE,    FROM  GEORGE  IV.    BRIDGE         .           .           .  2S1 

THE  CANONGATE 285 

THE  GRASSMARKET 287 

OLD  HOUSES   IN  THE   CANONGATE 289 

THE  TOLBOOTH 29O 

JAMES'S   COURT 293 

THE  OLD  TOWN,    FROM   PRINCES   STREET   ....  295 

A   BIT  OF  THE   HIGH   STREET 296 

A  WYND 297 

JOHN   KNOX'S   HOUSE 301 

LADY  stair's   CLOSE 303 

PORTRAIT 309 

PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 

PORTRAIT      ......'.•.#  319 

WEST  FRONT  OF  ST.    ANDREWS   CATHEDRAL      .          .          .  325 

THE  PORT,    ST.    ANDREWS 334 

JOHN  CURWEN. 

ANDERSON'S  COLLEGE,   GLASGOW 350 

PORTRAIT 357 


Etc.   Etc, 


"  New  occasions  teach  new  duties  ; 
Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth 
They  must  upward  still  and  onward  ; 
Who  would  keep  abreast  of  Truth." 

J.  R.  Lowell. 


INTRODUCTION. 


HEN  a  large  party  of  excursionists  set  out 
too-ether  to  ascend  some  commanding 
heio-ht,  from  which  an  extensive  view  can 
be  obtained,  there  are  always  some  whoso 
energy  urges  them  on  at  a  quicker  i:)ace 
than  that  of  their  companions.  Along  the 
lower  land,  and  on  the  solid  highway,  all  may  keep  to- 
gether in  a  tolerably  compact  group.  But  when  they  get 
up  on  the  open  mountain  side,  and  have  to  breast  the 
steep  slopes  where  no  certain  track  is  marked,  courage, 
muscle  and  wind  begin  to  tell ;  and  while  some  press 
forward,  others  linger  and  dally  with  the  difficulties  of 
the  way.  Thus  the  march,  instead  of  being  in  a  compact 
group,  is  extended  into  a  straggling  column,  and  this 
becomes  broken  up  into  small  detachments.  The  few 
who  may  be  marked  out  as  leaders  by  their  strength 


14  INTRODUCTION, 

and  spirit,  are  soon  separated  from  the  rest  and  push 
on  as  pioneers.  These  pioneers  may  not  keep  together. 
Though  they  all  have  one  aim — to  get  to  tlie  summit 
as  fast  as  possible — they  form  independent  judgments 
as  to  the  best  route.  One  will  follow  up  a  projecting 
spur,  another  will  think  that  a  neighbouring  hollow 
affords  the  best  path,  a  third  may  strike  a  diagonal 
course,  and  a  fourth  make  a  zigzag  route  for  himself. 
But  they  all  keep  ahead  of  the  main  body,  and  each 
one  will  have  imitators  at  a  distance  behind,  who  leave 
their  companions  to  follow  him. 

Such,  too,  is  the  pilgrimage  of  man  from  the  lower 
to  the  higher  life.  God  has  inspired  our  race  with  a 
passion  for  making  progress  and  mounting  higher.  By 
making  progress  we  mean  increase  of  knowledge  and 
power ;  by  mounting  higher  we  mean  growth  in  virtue. 
What  is  to  be  the  ultimate  end  of  our  progress  and 
climbing  we  do  not  know.  The  words  used  by  the 
great  Apostle  concerning  the  bright  mysteries  of  a 
better  world  may  also  be  used  concerning  this  present 
world,  for  "  Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man "  the  glorious 
things  which  human  progress  will  yet  achieve.  Still, 
though  we  do  not  know  the  end,  we  do  know  the 
direction  that  is  meant  by  "  upward  and  onward ; " 
and,  on  the  whole,  mankind  have  been  taking  that 
direction  for  many   thousands    of    years.     But   as  it 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

is  in  any  party  of  excursionists  ascending  a  height, 
so  is  it  with  the  progress  of  mankind.  Some  pro- 
ceed onward  and  upward  faster  than  others.  These 
become  the  pioneers  of  the  race.  Amongst  them  there 
are  many  minor  differences  of  opinion  about  the  best 
path  to  be  taken  ;  and  eacli  leader  will  have  his  own 
disciples  and  followers.  But  every  one  may  admire 
and  respect  them  all ;  they  are  all  seeking  the  same 
ultimate  goal ;  and  they  are  all  of  them  leaders  upward 
and  onward. 

We  desire  to  introduce  a  few  of  such  leaders  to  the 
attention  and  the  loving  study  of  the  young.  The  men 
whom  we  have  selected  are  not  indeed  characterized 
by  transcendent  greatness ;  but,  on  that  very  account, 
they  may  be  the  better  models  for  ourselves.  The 
supremely  great  amongst  men,  such,  for  instance,  as 
Shakespeare  or  King  Alfred,  are  objects  rather  of 
admiring  reverence  than  of  imitation.  But  men  of 
our  own  day,  living  in  our  own  circumstances,  and  not 
elevated  above  us  by  any  miraculous  gifts,  may  teach 
us  lessons  in  practical  conduct,  such  as  we  should  not 
presume  to  expect  from  those  who  have  risen  into  the 
very  heavens  of  fame.  Our  youngest  readers,  indeed, 
will  hardly  recognize  as  men  of  their  own  time  several, 
of  whom  we  present  sketches  in  this  volume.  But  the 
fathers,  and  even  the  elder  brothers  of  the  youngest, 
may  remember  most  of  them   as   living  men   whose 


i6  INTRODUCTION, 

conduct  was  clironicled  and  whose  spoken  language  was 
criticized  in  the  newspapers  of  years  not  long  gone  by. 
AVe  call  them  leaders  because  they  w^ere,  in  their 
respective  paths,  amongst  the  men  farthest  to  the  front 
in  the  progress  of  their  own  day.  We  call  them 
leaders  also  because  nearly  all  of  them  won  their 
triumphs  by  suffering,  and  forced  public  opinion  to 
adopt  more  just  conclusions  in  reaction  against  the 
WTongs  tliat  these  men  endured. 

"For  Humanity  sweeps  onward:  wl:ere  to-claj  the  martyr  stands, 
On  the  morrow  crouches  Judas  with  the  silver  in  his  hands ; 
Far  in  front  ihc  cross  stands  ready  and  the  crackling  fagots  burn, 
Wliile  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  silent  awe  return 
To  glean  np  the  scattered  ashes  into  History's  golden  urn." 

Such  men  have  differed  amongst  themselves  as  to 
the  precise  path  that  human  progress  should  take ;  but 
they  all  acknowledged  one  goal — the  glory  of  God 
in  the  supreme  good  of  mankind.  Therefore  it  is 
that  their  records  are  worth  studying  ;  and  we  trust 
that  while  they,  being  dead,  yet  speak  in  these  pages, 
they  may  prove  to  be  the  leaders  upward  and  onward 
of  many  into  whose  hands  this  book  will  fall. 

Hkxry  C.  Ewart, 


CHARLES    KINGSLEY. 


"Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  wlio  will  be  clever ; 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long : 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  for-ever 
One  grand,  sweet  song." 

C.   KiNGSLEY. 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY, 


.HERE  is  a  class  of  men  wliom  everybody 
clearly  loves,  who  do  great  things,  but  never 
so  much  as  they  might  do,  who  disclose  pos- 
sibilities, yet  hardly  fulfil  them  ;  and  who, 
by  way  of  compensation  for  this,  impart 
such  impulses  and  wield  such  influence  as 
they  could  never  have  done  if  tliey  had  been  more  com- 
pletely successful  in  any  one  thing.  They  are  always 
among  the  noblest  and  most  influential,  if  not  the  most 
prominent,  leaders  of  their  time.  As  we  read  their  books, 
or  study  their  characters  in  any  special  phase,  we  feci 
that  they  might  have  been  almost  anything — sailors, 
soldiers,  travellers,  bold  discoverers,  leaders  in  any 
heroic  or  perilous  enterprise.  They  are  of  the  stuff  of 
which  the  old  Crusaders  were  made,  or  the  Puritans  of 
the  New  World,  or  the  followers  of  Oliver  Cromwell  at 
Naseby  or  Marston  Moor. 


20  CHARLES  KINGSLEV. 

Charles  Kingsley,  whom  we  take  first,  was  one 
of  these,  and  a  very  notable  one.  He  was  a  hard- 
working parish  clergyman,  with  very  lofty  ideas  of 
a  clergyman's  duty ;  but  he  was  also  scholar,  poet, 
novelist,  dramatist,  historian,  traveller,  man  of  science, 
social  and  political  reformer,  and,  above  all,  a  manly 
man  and  true  gentleman.  That  element  lies  deepest 
and  gives  colour  and  bias  to  all  the  rest.  A  straight- 
forward frankness,  a  chivalrous  concern  for  others, 
a  tender  sympathy  for  the  weak  and  helpless,  and 
readiness  to  strike  a  blow  in  their  defence,  make  them- 
selves felt  like  a  fresh  Spring  wind  in  everything  that 
he  said  and  wrote,  as  well  as  in  all  that  he  did.  He 
was  a  true  patriot,  intent  always  on  the  welfare  and 
honour  of  his  country ;  a  true  philanthropist,  whose 
ener<?ies  did  not  exhaust  themselves  in  framing:  abstract 
plans,  but  in  dealing  directly  with  the  real  evils  of  the 
days  in  which  he  lived.  He  showed  anew — and 
perhaps  more  powerfully  than  had  been  done  before 
him — how  a  minister  of  the  Church  of  England,  in 
spite  of  its  divisions  and  sectarian  strifes,  may  become 
really  influential  with  all  parties  by  a  conscientious 
course  of  effort  through  good  report  and  ill  re^^ort 
alike.  He  was  often  misunderstood  and  often  mis- 
represented ;  and  the  rewards  to  which  a  gifted 
minister  of  the  Church  of  England  might  reasonably 
look,  as  new  channels  of  influence,  were  very  long 
deferred  in  his  case,  and  but  for  a  short  time  enjoyed. 
But  Charles  Kingsley's  reputation  is  not  bound  up 
with  such  promoticns  as  these ;  it  lies  rather  in  the 


CHARLES  KINGS LE  Y.  2 1 

fact  that  he  came  to  be  spoken  of  with  fond  pride  as 
plain  Charles  Kingsley,  with  no  prefix  or  distinction 
whatever. 

Like  many  great  men,  he  owed  much  to  his  parent- 
age.     He,    himself,  recognized  this,    speaking  of  his 


DARTMOOR. 


father  as  a  magnificent  man  in  body  and  mind,  and 
said  to  possess  every  talent,  save  that  of  using  his 
talents.  His  mother,  on  the  contrary,  had  quite  an 
extraordinary  practical  and  administrative  power,  com- 
bining with  it  a  passion  for  knowledge,  and  the 
sentiment    and    fancy    of    a    young    girl.     From    his 


23  CHARLES  KINGSLE  V. 

father's    side   he    thus  inherited   his  love  of  art,  his 
sporting    tastes,   his   fighting    blood — the  men  of  his 
family  having  been  soldiers  for  generations,  some  of 
them  having  led  troops  to  battle  at  Naseby,  Minden, 
and  elsewhere — while  from  the  mother's  side  came  not 
only  his  love  of  travel,  science  and  literature,  and  the 
romance  of  his  nature,  but  his  keen  sense  of  humour. 
We    learn    that  his  mother,   resident    in    Devonshire 
X^rior   to  his   birth,    believed  that  impressions  of  the 
romantic    surroundings  would  be  mysteriously  trans- 
mitted to   her   child;  and,   as  she   lived  to  read   his 
"Westward  Ho!"   and  vivid  picturesque  sketches  of 
Dartmoor  and  of  other  Devonshire  haunts,  she  must 
have  felt  that  her  strange  impressions  and  prophecies 
had    not    failed    of    accomplishment.     She    was   the 
daughter  of  a  West  Indian   Judge,  who  returned  to 
England,  retired,   when   Charles  Kingsley  was  a  boy. 
The  white-haired  grandfather  delighted  in  nothing  more 
than  to  recite  in  the  eager  boy's  ear  stories  of  the  old 
war-times,  and   eloquent  descriptions  of  tropical  life 
and  scenery.     These  woke  up  in  the  lad  that  longing 
to  see  the  West  Indies  which  was  at  last  gratified,  and 
the  results  of   which  are   preserved  in   characteristic 
style  in  his  volume  significantly  titled  "  At  Last." 

Charles  Kingsley's  father  had  been  educated  in  the 
hope  of  his  living  the  life  of  a  country-gentleman  ;  but 
he  was  early  left  an  orphan,  and  the  bulk  of  his 
fortune  was  wasted  by  others.  Nearly  all  the  rest 
he  squandered  himself,  and  he  had,  while  still  a 
young  man,  to  think  of  a  profession.     He  entered  the 


/ 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY.  23 

Church,  having  his  first  cure  in  the  Fens  (which,  too, 
his  son  maintained  an  interest  in  and  wrote  about, 
giving  us  some  of  the  most  faithful  pictures  and  im- 
pressions of  their  unique  scenery  and  traditions). 
From  there  he  moved  to  Holne,  in  Devonshire,  where 
Charles  was  born  on  the  12th  of  June,  18 19.  Then 
for  some  time  he  lived  at  Burton-on-Trent,  afterwards 
at  Cliften,  Nottinghamshire,  the  Bishop  of  Peter- 
borough then  presenting  him  temporarily  to  the  living 


WINTER   IN  THE   FENS. 


of  Barnack  Eectory,  as  famous  for  its  ghost  as  for 
aught  else,  and  of  which  Charles  Xingsley  has  pre- 
served the  memory.  Writing  on  June  2,  1864,  he 
says : — 

"Of  Button  Cap — he  lived  in  the  Great  North 
Room  at  Barnack — I  knew  him  well.  He  used  to  walk 
across  the  room  in  flopping  slippers,  and  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  books  to  find  the  missing  deed  whereof  he 
had  defrauded  the  orphan  and  widow.  He  was  an  old 
Piector  of  Barnack.  Everybody  heard  him  who  chose. 
Nobody  ever  saw  him ;  but  in  spite  of  that,  he  wore  a 
flowered  dressing-gown,  and  a  cap  with  a  button   on 


24 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


nii:  QUAY, 

CLOVELLY. 


it I  suppose  lie    is   gone  now.     Ghosts    hate 

mortally  a  certificated  National  schoolmaster,  and 
(being  a  vain  and  peevish  generation)  as  soon  as  people 
give  up  believing  in  them,  go  away  in  a  huff — or, 
perhaps,  some  one  had  been  laying  phosphoric  paste 
about,  and  he  ate  thereof,  and  ran  down  to  the  pond 
and  drank  till  he  burst.     He  was  rats." 

But  it  seems  Button  Cap  is  still  believed  in  by  the 
peasants  there. 

Charles  was  very  precocious  as  a  child,  began  to 
write  little  sermons  and  odd  irreojular  verses  when 
between  four  and  five,  specimens  of  which  are  still 
preserved.  "When  a  little  older  he  became  subject  to 
dangerous  attacks  of  croup,  which,  however,  did  not 
lessen  his  abnormal  thirst  for  knowledge.  AMien  he 
was    about   eleven    his    father    moved    once   more  to 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY. 


25 


Devonshire,  partly  on  account  of  health,  partly  for 
other  reasons  ;  and  "  as  soon  as  the  boy  was  old  enough, 
he  was  mounted  on  his  father's  horse  in  front  of  the 
keeper  on  shooting  days  to  bring  the  game-bag  back." 
]>y-and-by  his  father  got  the  living  of  Clovelly,  where 
Charles  delighted  to  rove  about  and  study  the  scenes 
and  the  people. 


THE   BEACH,    CLOVELLY. 

The  two  boys — for  Charles  had  a  brother  Herbert — 
had  a  ]3rivate  tutor  at  home  till  1 8  3 1 ,  when  they  were 
sent  to  the  Eev.  John  Knight's  preparatory  school  at 
Bristol.  This  gentleman  describes  our  subject  as 
"  affectionate,  gentle,  and  fond  of  quiet    ....  a  pas- 


26  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

sionate  lover  of  natural  history ;  and  only  excited  to 
vehement  anger  when  the  housemaid  swept  away  as 
rubbish  some  of  his  treasures  collected  in  liis  walks 
on  the  Downs."  The  famous  Bristol  Eiots  took  place 
whilst  he  was  there,  and  made  such  an  impression  on  his 
mind  as  was  never  afterwards  forgotten.  When  lectur- 
ing at  Bristol  in  1858,  he  thus  made  reference  to  it : 
"  It  was  in  this  very  city  of  Bristol,  twenty-seven  years 
ago,  tliat  I  received  my  first  lesson  in  wliat  is  now 
called  '  Social  Science,'  and  yet,  alas  !  ten  years  elapsed 
ere  I  could  even  spell  out  that  lesson,  though  it  had 
been  written  for  me  (as  well  as  for  all  England)  in 
letters  of  flame  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  tlie 
other." 

In  1832,  instead  of  going  to  Eton  or  Eugby,  as  was 
at  one  time  proposed,  the  two  brothers  went  to  the 
school  kept  by  the  Eev.  Derwent  Coleridge,  at  Helston. 
Probably  the  slight  impediment  in  Charles's  speech 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  this  decision  ; 
but,  at  all  events,  Charles  enjoyed  Helston,  found 
some  life-long  friei  Is  there,  and  made  marked  pro- 
gress. "  Truly  a  remarkable  boy,"  wrote  Mr.  Coleridge 
to  Mrs.  Kingsley,  "original  to  the  verge  of  eccentricity, 
and  yet  a  thorough  boy,  fond  of  sport,  and  up  to  any 
enterprise  —  a  genuine  out-of-doors  English  boy." 
Little  incidents  and  striking  scenes  witnessed,  now 
inspired  him  to  more  ambitious  efforts  in  prose  and 
verse ;  and  some  of  the  specimens  preserved  by  Mr. 
Powles,  and  given  in  liis  Memoir,  distinctly  show 
promise  of  the  future  poet  and  ballad-writer. 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY.  27 

His  father  held  the  living  of  Clovelly  till  he  \yas 
preferred  to  the  Eectory  of  St.  Luke's,  Chelsea,  in 
1836,  where  Charles  rejoined  liis  parents,  in  order 
that  he  might  attend  King's  College.  The  change  to 
Chelsea  Charles  felt  deeply — the  loss  of  sympathetic 
companionship  and  of  much-loved  scenery  nothing  in 
London  made  up  for ;  and  the  narrowness  and  con- 
ventionality of  tone  in  the  society  of  the  district  were 
every  way  oppressive  to  the  lad.  His  parents  were 
busy  from  morning  till  night — the  house  full  of 
district  visitors  and  parish  committees.  In  short,  says 
the  Memoir,  Chelsea  was  a  prison  from  which  he 
thankfully  escaped  two  years  later  to  the  freer  life  at 
Cambridge.  In  the  meantime  he  had  had  a  turn  of 
what  he  called  "hard  grinding"  at  King's  College, 
walking  up  there  every  day  from  Chelsea,  reading  all 
the  way,  and  walking  back  again  late  to  study  all  the 
evening:. 

His  heart  was  in  his  work,  and  the  influences  wliich 
at  first  he  had  felt  to  be  uncongenial  were  in  some 
degree  beneficial ;  for  he  was  thrown  more  in  upon 
himself,  and  made  to  realize  at  this  early  age  the 
resources  that  lie  in  reflection,  meditation,  and  study. 
"He  turned  his  necessity  to  glorious  gain,"  in  the 
language  of  the  poet  Wordsworth's  "  Happy  Warrior." 
Already  he  had  begun  to  interest  himself  in  subjects 
lying  quite  outside  the  sphere  of  the  schoolboy.  The 
sights  he  saw  in  London  suggested  problems,  which  in 
after  days  he  did  all  that  in  him  lay  to  solve  by  active 
effort.     He  was  struck  by  the  wide  gulf  between  rich 


28  CHARLES  KINGSLEV, 

and  poor,  and  by  the  isolation  and  wretchedness  in  which 
muititndes  must  live  in  a  city  like  London,  doomed 
to  drudgery  and  dreary  struggle  for  mere  existence 
without  hope  of  any  improvement  or  relief.  In  after 
years,  one  of  his  m\ich  desired  minor  reforms  was 
abundant  seats  placed  in  spare  spaces  of  the  public 
thoroughfares,  on  which  the  poor  might  sit  down  and 
rest  themselves  in  summer,  and  covered  shelters  into 
which  they  could  escape  in  the  rain  or  storms  of 
winter.  We  may  well  guess  that  such  want  had 
often  been  felt  by  him  as  he  trudged  daily,  tired  and 
sometimes  even  wet,  to  and  fro  between  Chelsea  and 
King's  College.  Any  one  can  see  that,  to  a  certain 
extent,  his  ideas  on  this  matter  have  been  realized  on 
the  Thames  Embankment  and  sundry  other  places  in 
London. 

He  soon  gained  a  scholarship  at  Cambridge,  being 
first  both  in  classics  and  mathematics,  which  had  not 
happened  in  Magdalen  College  for  several  years.  He 
was  not  long  at  Cambridge  before  he  had  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  free  inquiring  spirit,  and  the  divided 
state  of  thought  and  religious  opinion  at  that  time 
bred  doubts  and  difficulties  which  he  frankly  faced 
but  did  not  so  readily  master.  German  rationalism 
then  was  invading  England,  reinforced  by  some  of 
the  great  names  of  Germany ;  materialism  was  begin- 
ning to  infect  English  science  and  philosophy.  The 
German  rationalists  were  very  learned  men  who  tried 
to  explain  away  the  supernatural  in  Christianity — to 
account  for  all  that  is  sot  down  as  miraculous  in  the 


CHARLES  KING  SLEW  29 

Sacred  Eecord  by  natural  causes,  or  to  prove  tliat  it 
was  the  pious  work  of  well-meaning  but  self-deluded 
men,  or  tlie  result  of  a  process  of  legend-making, 
precisely  in  the  same  way  as  the  fabulous  elements 
in  the  early  stories  of  Greece  and  Eome  came  into 
existence  and  gained  currency.  Their  ideas  were 
powerful,  not  only  in  Germany,  but  in  Holland  and 
France.  It  soon  became  apparent,  however,  that 
wherever  these  ideas  prevailed  the  moral  level  of  the 
people  also  declined,  and  the  philanthropic  and  evan- 
sjelistic  work  of  the  churches  slackened.  The  reaction 
against  this  kind  of  thinking  came  in  a  return  to 
excessive  reverence  for  tradition  in  many  forms ;  and 
in  England  it  had  one  powerful  expression  in  what  is 
called  the  Oxford  Movement,  in  which  the  now  familiar 
names  of  Newman,  Pusey,  and  Keble  were  prominent. 
With  all  his  English  prudence,  Kingsley  had  a  strain 
of  mysticism  in  him,  as  his  Introduction  to  the  sermons 
of  the  old  German  mystic  Tauler  suffices  to  show. 
The  Oxford  Tracts,  which  were  the  authoritative 
utterance  of  this  Oxford  school,  had  lately  appeared, 
making  appeal  to  that  side  of  human  nature;  the 
ascetic  view  of  Hfe  had  had  all  its  claims  put  forth  with 
the  nervous  energy  and  fascinating  purity  of  Xewman 
and  Hurrell  Froude.  Kingsley  had  to  wrestle  with 
that  phase  of  things  too,  and  he  did  it  once  for  all. 
"He  was  then,"  says  the  Memoir,  "just  like  his  own 
Lancelot  in  '  Yeast,' in  that  summer,  1839 — a  bold 
thinker,  a  bold  rider,  a  most  chivalrous  gentleman, 
sad,  shy  and  serious  habitually ;  in  conversation  at  one 


30  CHARLES  KING  SLEW 

moment  brilliant  and  impassioned,  tlie  next  reserved 
and  unapproachable ;  by  turns  attracting  and  repelling, 
but  pouring  forth  to  the  friend  whom  he  could  trust, 
stores  of  thought  and  feeling  and  information  on  every 
sort  of  unexpected  subject  which  seemed  boundless. 
It  was  a  feast  to  the  imaf^ination  and  intellect  to  hold 
communion  with  Charles  Kingsley,  even  at  the  age  of 
twenty;  the  originality  with  which  he  treated  a  sub- 
ject was  startling,  and  his  genius  illuminated  every 
subject  it  approached,  whether  he  sj)oke  of  '  the  delicious 
shiver  of  those  aspen  leaves '  on  the  nearest  tree,  or  of 
the  deepest  laws  of  humanity  and  the  controversies 
of  tlie  day." 

Thus  he  speaks  of  himself  at  this  time  : — "  I  am 
swimming  against  a  mighty  stream,  and  I  feel  every 
moment  I  must  drop  my  arms  and  float  in  apathy 
over  the  hurrying  cataract,  whicli  I  see  and  hear  but 
have  not  time  to  avoid.  Man  does  want  something 
more  than  his  reason !  Socrates  confessed  tliat  he 
owed  all  to  his  diemon,  and  that  without  his  super- 
natural intimations,  right  and  wrong,  the  useful  and 
the  hurtful,  were  shrouded  in  mist,  and  that  he  alone 
smoothed  to  him  the  unapproachable  heights  which 
conducted  to  -the  beautiful  and  the  good." 

But  soon  he  came  to  clearness — an  undei standing 
with  himself  and  defniite  ideas  as  to  his  calling ;  and 
before  long  we  find  him  exclaiming  : — "  Saved  ! — saved 
from  the  wild  pride  and  darkling  tempests  of  scej)ticism, 
and  from  the  sensuality  and  dissipation  into  which  my 
own  rashness   and    vanity  had  hurried    me  1     Saved 


CHARLES  KINGSLE  Y,  3 1 

from  a  liuuter's  life  on  the  prairies,  from  becoming  a 
savage,  and  ^Dcrhaps  worse !  Saved  from  all  this,  and 
restored  to  my  country  and  my  God,  and  able  to 
believe !  And  I  do  believe  firmly  and  practically  as  a 
subject  of  prayer,  and  a  rule  of  every  action  of  my 
life."  It  is  sometimes  said  in  philosophical  books  that 
no  one  can  thorouglily  oppose  a  side  or  system  logically 
who  has  not  once  belonged  to  it — seen  it  from  the 
inside,  so  to  speak;  and  it  may  be  that  Kingsley's 
struggles  with  himself  then  did  not  a  little  to  make 
him  understand  and  sympathize  with  the  discontent 
and  disbelief  of  poor  working-men,  as  brought  out  in 
"  Alton  Locke  "  (which  is  a  vivid  picture  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  struggling  and  discontented  classes  in 
London  groaning  under  dear  bread,  the  horrible 
"  sweating "  system,  and  their  associated  evils  forty 
years  ago),  and  also  in  many  of  his  papers  written 
afterwards  under  the  name  of  "Parson  Lot." 

We  are  not  surprised  that  he  was  "  popular  "  at  the 
University,  that  he  had  a  wide  circle  of  admiring 
friends,  and  that  he  was,  when  occasion  offered,  quite 
equal  to  a  good  bout  of  boating,  fishiug,  coachiug,  or 
any  other  sport ;  but,  unlike  some  of  his  companions, 
he  had  also  found  time  to  pursue  his  studies  thoroughly 
and  systematically.  Some  of  the  passages  in  "  Chalk 
Stream  Studies "  and  later  volumes,  are  due  to  ex- 
periences of  these  days  at  Cambridge.  But  now,  as  he 
began  to  realize  more  clearly  day  by  day  that  the  life 
of  a  clergyman  was  the  one  for  which  both  his 
physical  and  moral  nature  were  intended;  rather  than 


32  CHARLES  KINGSLEY, 

for  the  law,  of  whicli  he  had  previously  had  thoughts 
so  definite  as   to  enter  his  name  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  he 
abandoned   these  loved  sports,  and   he  took    himself 
closely  to  the  study  of  philosophy  and  divinity.     He 
took  his  degree  in  November    1841,  and  after  a  short 
rest  in  Devonshire  among  its  much-loved  scenery,  he 
began  seriously   to  read   for  Holy   Orders.     He   was 
ordained  in  July  1842  to  the   curacy  of  Eversley  in 
Hampshire,    henceforth    to    be    associated    with     his 
name  throughout  his  whole  life.     He  was  only  twenty- 
three  years  of   age.       Eversley  is  on  the  borders  of 
Old  Windsor  Forest,  and  certain  relics  of  the  old  forest 
life  lingered   still  among  the   people:  "the  old   men 
could   remember   the  time  when  many  a  royal   deer 
used  to  stray  into    Eversley  parish.      Every  man  in 
those  days   could   snare  his    hare,  and   catch  a  good 
dinner   of   fish  in  waters  not  strictly  preserved;  and 
the   old  women  could   tell  of    the  handsomest  muffs 
and  tippets,  made  of   pheasant's  feathers  not  bought 
with  silver,  which   they   wore  in  their  young  days." 
Kingsley  liked  and  understood,  far  better  than  most 
persons,  these  "descendants  of  many  generations   of 
broom-squires   and    deer-stealers,"    in  whom    the    in- 
stinct   of    sport    still  was  strong.      "They  have  their 
faults,  as   I    have    mine,"    he    says ;    "  but   they    are 
thorough  good  fellows  nevertheless.     Civil,  contented 
industrious,  and  often  very  handsome;  a  far  slirewdcr 
fellow,   too — owins  to  his  dash  of  wikl   forest   blood 
from    gipsy,    highwayman,   and    what  not — than    liis 
bullet-headed    and     flaxen-polled    cousin,    the     pure 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  35 

South  Saxon  of  the  chalk  clowns.  Dark-hah-ed  he  is, 
ruddy  and  tall  of  bone,  swaggering  in  his  youth ;  but 
when  he  grows  old,  a  thorough  gentleman,  reserved, 
stately  and  courteous  as  a  prince." 

Before  Kiugsley's  coming  to  Eversley  the  Church 
services  had  been  utterly  neglected,  the  parishioners 
in  various  ways  but  ill  attended  to.  It  sometimes 
happened  that  the  Eector  had  a  cold  or  other  trifling 
ailment,  and  then  he  would  send  the  clerk  to  the 
church  door  at  eleven,  to  inform  the  few  who  had 
attended  that  there  would  be  no  service.  Any  one  who 
knows  rural  districts  knows  what  the  effect  of  this 
would  be  on  people  who  had  perhaps  v/alked  a  con- 
siderable distance.  The  public-houses,  which  had  al- 
ready been  well-filled,  at  once  received  a  reinforcement. 
It  was  hard  work  to  gjet  a  con2;reo'ation  together ;  but 
the  new  curate  set  to  work  in  the  right  way.  He  soon 
made  it  felt  that  he  had  something  to  say  to  men  and 
women  like  them  ;  and  his  long-held  maxim — ncA^er  to 
depreciate,  according  to  the  foolish  way  of  sentimen- 
talists, the  brotherly  love  of  men — stood  him  in  r^ood 
stead,  after  he  had  in  a  measure  succeeded.  The 
people  soon  began  to  weary  for  the  Church  services 
which  they  had  neglected ;  and  Kingsley  took  care  to 
mould  his  thousjhts  into  forms  suited  to  them.  And 
he  did  not  neglect  his  studies.  He  was  eager  to  sjet 
light  from  whatever  quarter  it  might  come,  read  the 
Puseyite  Tracts,  and  mourned  over  them,  seeing 
clearly  where  they  ought  logically  to  lead,  studied 
the   works    of   the    more    thoughtful    dissenters,    and 


36  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

came  to  respect  them.  We  find  him  about  this  time 
writing,  for  example,  to  a  friend : 

"Do  not  reject  Wardlaw  because  he  is  a  Dis- 
senter. The  poor  man  was  born  so,  you  know.  It 
is  very  different  from  a  man  dissenting  personally. 
Besides,  your  business  is  with  the  book,  not  with  the 
author.  Give  up  that  habit  of  identifying  books 
and  men.  Only  our  ideas  of  such  people  as  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  and  Dante,  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
influence  our  ideas  of  what  they  wrote." 

He  extended  his  field  carefully,  read  history,  went 
botauizing,  geologizing,  and  welcomed  the  works  of 
Buckland  and  such  writers ;  in  a  word,  in  his  quiet 
rectory,  he  let  pass  little  of  powerful  interest  in  the 
intellectual  and  scientific  world.  He  strenuously 
practised  music,  merely,  as  he  writes,  "  to  be  able 
to  look  after  my  singers ; "  adding  significantly, 
"  music  is  such  a  vent  for  the  feelings."  He  studied 
medicine,  too,  that  he  might  the  more  effectually  look 
after  his  sick  and  ailing  ones.  He  makes  a  note : 
"Make  yourself  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  ways, 
wants,  habits,  and  prevalent  diseases  of  the  poor 
wherever  you  go." 

This  young  curate  was,  at  all  events,  intent  on 
laying  a  foundation,  at  once  broad  and  solid,  for 
future  usefulness.  We  shall  soon  see  how  he  came 
successfully  to  build  upon  it.  He  liad  little  of 
what  is  called  "  Society,"  during  his  first  experience 
of  curate  life;  but  he  found  it  well  supplied  by 
his   books   and   studies,    and    the    increasing  respect 


CHARLES  KINGS LE  Y.  2,7 

of  his  people.  Early  in  1 844,  he  was  married  to 
the  lady,  Miss  Grenfell,  who  proved  so  fit  a  help- 
meet to  him,  and  entered  on  the  curacy  of  Pimperne 
in  Dorsetshire.  But  changes  made  it  possible, 
unexpectedly  for  him,  to  return  to  Eversley  as  its 
Eector  in  the  course  of  a  few  months.  The  neglect 
of  former  incumbents  made  it  hard  work  there ;  but 
now  a  great  reformation  was  accomplished,  with  no 
end  of  agencies  for  the  improvement  of  the  people, 
when  once  he  was  completely  master,  and  had  it  all 
his  own  way. 

Shoe-club,  coal-club,  maternal  society,  a  loan  fund 
and  lending  library  were  established  one  after  another. 
An  adult  school  was  held  in  the  Eectory  three  nights 
a  week  for  all  the  winter  months ;  a  music-class  was 
soon  established  and  met  there  too ;  and  a  Sunday- 
school  met  also  every  Sunday  morning  and  afternoon, 
and  weekly  cottage  lectures  were  established  in  the 
outlying  districts  for  the  old  and  feeble.  Disadvantages 
were  even  viewed  as  sources  of  benefit.  There  was 
no  school-house ;  but  the  frequent  visits  of  the  people 
to  the  Eectory,  which  was  always  open  to  them,  was 
viewed  as  havino^  a  gooJ  humanizinsj  influence.  His 
house-to-house  weekly  Aisiting  was  most  rigidly 
attended  to  with  the  best  results.  Few  recreations  he 
now  allowed  himself,  beyond  an  occasional  hour's  fish- 
ing. At  this  time  he  did  not  have  a  horse,  as  some 
years  afterwards  he  had,  to  take  him  for  a  scamper  over 
the  downs.  He  never  took  a  gun  in  liis  liand,  lest  it 
might  have  the  force  of  a  bad  example  on  the  people 


38  CHA  RLES  KINGSLE  Y. 

already  too  prone  to  poaching  raids.  He  had  studied 
so  thoroughly  the  style  of  preaching  fitted  to  reach 
the  people,  that,  when  some  of  his  sermons  were  sub- 
mitted to  Bishop  Sumner  on  Kingsley's  application  for 
priest's  orders,  the  only  fault  his  lordship  found  with 
them  was  that  they  were  too  colloquial !  He  wrote  to 
men  like  Mr.  Maurice  for  advice  and  help,  and  received 
it  gratefully ;  and  his  confession  shortly  put  was  this  : 
"  My  whole  heart  is  set,  not  on  retrogression  outward 
or  inward,  but  on  progression — not  on  going  back  in 
the  least  matter  to  any  ideal  age  or  system,  but  on 
fairly  taking  the  present  as  it  is,  not  as  I  should  like 
it  to  be ;  and  believing  that  Jesus  Christ  is  still  work- 
ing in  all  honest  and  well-meaning  men — see  what  are 
the  elements  of  spiritual  good  in  the  present  age,  and 
try  as  an  artist  to  embody  them,  not  in  old  forms,  but 

in  new  ones The  new  element  is  democracy  in 

Church  and  State.  Waiving  the  question  of  its  evil 
and  its  good,  we  cannot  stop  it.  Let  us  Christianize 
it  instead ;  and  if  you  fear  that  you  are  therein  doing 
evil  that  good  may  come,  oh,  consider,  consider, 
whether  democracy  (I  do  not  mean  foul  licence  or 
pedantic  constitution-mongering,  but  the  ri^^hts  of  man 
as  man — his  individual  and  direct  responsibility  to  God 
and  to  the  State,  on  the  score  of  mere  manhood  and 
Christian  grace),  be  not  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of 
the  New  Testament — whether  tlie  noble  structures  of 
mediaeval  hierarchy  and  monarchy  were  not  merely 
*  schoolmasters  to  bring  Europe  to  Christ — tutors  and 
governors/  till  mankind  be  of  aij-e  and  fit  for  a  theo- 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  4I 

Cracy,  in  wliicli  men  might  live  by  faith  in  an  unseen 
yet  spiritually  and  sacranientally  present  King,  and 
have  no  King  but  Him." 

This  may  be  regarded  as  the  platform  on  which  he 
stood.  When,  some  time  after,  the  Chartist  Riots 
broke  out,  he  acted  in  consistency  with  it.  He  tried 
all  he  could  to  Christianize  the  motives  of  the  leaders 
and  the  led,  and  thus  to  enable  them  to  lift  their 
eyes,  and  to  see  more  widely.  With  tliis  end  he 
spoke  and  wrote  and  worked,  entering  on  correspond- 
ence widely.  He  was  much  misunderstood  by  many  ; 
but  at  this  day,  his  position  is  very  much  that  of  most 
influential  Christian  men.  And  he  was  no  theorist, 
rushing  off  from  the  sphere  of  nearest  duties  to  excite 
vague  ideas  in  others.  Every  winter's  evening  of 
1848  was  occupied  witli  either  night-school  at  the 
Eectory,  about  thirty  men  attending,  or  with  little 
services  in  the  outlying  cottages  for  the  infirm  and 
labouring  men  after  their  day's  work.  In  the  spring 
and  summer  a  writing-class  was  held  for  girls  in  the 
empty  coach-house ;  a  cottage  school  for  infants  was 
also  beG;un  on  the  common.  Tlie  number  of  com- 
municants  largely  increased,  and  we  read  that  "  the 
daily  services  and  evening  sermons  in  Passion  week 
seemed  to  borrow  an  intenser  fervour  and  interest 
from  the  stranf]je  events  of  the  gjreat  world  outside  the 
small  quiet  parish,  and  though  poorly  attended,  still 
gathered  together  a  few  labouring  folk." 

At  this  period,  too,  he  became  Professor  of  English 
Literature  and  Composition  at  Queen's  College,  Ilarlcy 


42  CHA  RLES  KINGSLE  V. 

Street,  of  which  Mr.  Maurice  was  Principal,  and  his 
frequent  visits  to  the  Metropolis  in  this  capacity 
made  it  easy  for  him  to  see  something  of  the  working- 
men  of  London  at  this  exciting  and  dangerous  time. 
He  was  not  content  with  looking  on — and  it  was  by 
these  sights  that  he  was  urged  to  address  them  by 
letters,  which  are  full  of  vigorous  sympathy  and  prac- 
tical advice.  The  refrain  of  all  these  letters  was 
this ;  "  To  be  what  you  want — to  be  free,  you  must 
free  yourselves.  Will  tlie  Charter  by  itself  cure  you  ? 
Friends,  you  want  more  than  Acts  of  Parliament  can 
give."  He  never  failed  to  assure  them  that  they  had 
more  friends  than  they  knew  of ;  but,  if  they  did  not 
wish  to  drive  them  from  doinor  their  utmost  to  aid 
them,  they  must  be  wise,  be  cool,  be  patient. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  that  Charles  Kingsley  sought 
to  moderate  the  evils  that  then  threatened  society,  and 
no  doubt  his  words  had  influence  in  not  a  few  minds, 
both  among:  the  workinsj-men  and  in  other  circles. 
He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Thomas  Cooper,  the 
Chartist — who,  for  many  years  an  infidel,  has  done 
much  to  atone  by  able  books  and  lectures  in  defence 
of  Christianity — at  this  time,  and  a  mutual  respect  and 
liking  sprang  up  between  them,  which  endured  to  the 
end.  "  Alton  Locke"  w^as  taking  form  in  his  mind  now  ; 
but  his  hard  work  and  the  anxiety  he  had  felt  brought 
ill-health,  and  for  a  time  he  had  to  take  rest.  "When 
he  returned  to  Eversley  from  his  beloved  Devon,  he 
resolved  to  take  pupils,  and  this  opened  up  to  him 
many  new  and  pleasant  sources  of  interest,  and  began 


CM  A  RLES  KINGSLE  Y.  43 

new  and  fragrant  friendships.  Not  an  evil  fell  upon 
the  nation,  but  he  felt  it ;  not  a  noble  aspiration  or 
enterprise,  but  he  was  in  sympathy  with  it.  His 
respect  for  the  poor  increased,  the  more  intimately 
that  he  knew  them.  But  in  most  questions  he  saw 
both  sides,  or  tried  to  see  them ;  and  when  he  was 
pressed  on  the  question  of  teetotalism,  he  had  to 
remind  his  friends  of  the  distinction  between  the  use 
and  the  abuse.  "  The  substitute  with  the  teetotalers 
of  1900  A.D.  will  be,  I  fear,  laudanum.  I  expect, 
and  hereby  warn  all  my  friends,  that  the  sale  of 
laudanum  will  increase  rapidly.  There  will  be  always, 
as  in  monkery,  some  who  will  keep  up  to  the  present 
pure  and  sincere  standard  of  the  original  school ;  but 
the  mass  will,  as  usual,  be  contented  with  tlie  form  of 
the  theory  without  its  reality ;  they  will  either  break 
out  now  and  then,  on  the  sly,  into  excesses,  all  the  more 
beastly  from  previous  restraint,  or  fly  to  opium." 

The  outward  incidents  of  Charles  Kingsley's  life 
after  this  time  are  not  very  marked  or  varied.  He 
was  involved  in  some  controversies ;  he  became  Pro- 
fessor of  Modern  History  at  Cambridge ;  in  course  of 
time  he  was  promoted  to  a  Canonry  at  Chester, 
where  his  short  "  residences "  were  much  enjoyed. 
His  intercourse  with  Dean  Howson  and  others  there 
was  that  of  sympathetic  and  helpful  friendship.  He 
held  this  Canonry  from  1869  to  1 873,  when  he 
accepted  a  Canonry  at  Westminster,  which  was  the 
more  grateful  to  him,  as  it  brought  him  into  closer 
relationship  with  his   beloved  friend  of  many   years 


44 


CHARLES  KLXGSLEY. 


standing,    Dean    Stanley,    who    knew    well    how    to 
appreciate  his  character  and  genius.      But  the  pastoral 


CLOISTER   COURT,    CHIOS  IKR    CATIlIiDRAL. 


work  at  Eversley  remained   to   the  end  the  essential 
element  in  his  life ;  and  there  lie  continued  to  work 


CHARLES  KINGSLE  V.  45 

with  the  same  freshness  of  enthusiasm  and  the  same 
breadth  of  sympathy  as  when  he  began. 

That  a  man  whose  whole  life  was   so  absorbed  in 
practical  work  of  this  kind   should   have  contributed 
so  largely  and  with  such  success  to  the  literature  of 
his   country  is  only  another  illustration  of  the  truth 
that  one's  power  of  doing  increases  with  doing.      A 
very  wise  man   has  said,  if  you  want  any  help  in  a 
charitable  or  philanthropic   matter   do  not  go   to  the 
idle   or   luxurious,   but   go  to  the  man  whose  hands 
seem  already  overfull — he   only  will  help  you.      Sir 
Arthur  Helps,  himself  a  shrewd  observer  and  active 
philanthropist,   never   wrote    with   more   insight   than 
in  the  sentence  we  have  just   quoted.     Ivingsley  was 
full  of   energy,   ceaseless   in  efibrt — his  brain  was   a 
fountain  of  fine  impulses,  which  never  ceased  to  play. 
His  rest  was  only  another  kind  of  work.     His  writinf^s 
would  have  been  enough   to  secure  him  a  high  posi- 
tion in  the  temple  of  fame.     And  yet  the  complete 
retirement    and  quietude   without   which    it  is   often 
said  the   highest    literary   work    cannot  be   produced 
were   never   his.      He   wrote,   like   Norman   Macleod, 
only  in   stolen   snatches  of  time;    and   what  he    did 
write   are    all   works   more    or    less   with   a    purpose. 
"Hypatia,"    which    is   perhaps    his   greatest   work    of 
fiction,  as  it  is  the  most  learned,  shows  a  very  remark- 
able power  of  imagination,  able  to  fuse  in  its  glow 
the  shifting  miscellany  of  life  and  thought  in  a  time 
of  fevered  crisis  or  transition.      It  represents  Alex- 
andria  at  the   time  when   Greek   culture  came  most 


46  CHARLES  KINGSLE  Y. 

directly  in  contact  with  Christian  thought  and  life  ; 
and  in  his  heroine  Hypatia  he  has  exhibited  one  of 
the  most  touching  ideals. 

She  is  a  Greek  philosopher  in  female  garb,  full  of 
enthusiasm  for  the  ancient  faith,  which  she  reconciles 
in  her  own  mind  with  much  of  the  best  in  Egyptian  or 
Eastern  ideas,  which  then  had  come  to  intermix  with 
and  to  modify  classical  conceptions.      She  is  a  famous 
lecturer   and  teacher   of   philosophy,   with   crowds  of 
pupils.     Philammon  is  a  monk  of  the  desert,  who  hears 
of  her  and  becomes  possessed  with  the  idea  of  con- 
verting her.     But  he  is  such  a  monk  as  a  writer  like 
Kingsley  only   could    conceive    or    create.      He    has 
little  or  none  of  the  weakness   of  the   monkish   cha- 
racter :  he  is  frank,  courageous,  manly,  yet  a  Christian 
hermit,  devout  and  true.     He  is  even  fond  of  bathing. 
He  goes   to  Alexandria,  where  already  is   a  sister  of 
his,  named  Pelagia,    who,   alas  !  has  fallen   amid  the 
gaiety  and  vice  of  that  ancient  capital,  then  so  luxu- 
rious and  extravagant.      A   Jewess,   Miriam,  has   not 
been    innocent    of     tempting    her    to    her    downfall. 
Philammon,  when  he  appears  before  Hypatia,  is  sud- 
denly  seized   with   tliat  passion   of  admiration   which 
is  nioh   to  love,  and  is  thus  so  far  disarmed  in  the 
moment   of    attack.     His    appeal  to   her   loses  effect 
'    from  his  grand  impression  of  her  sincerity  and  noble- 
ness of  mind  and   character.      The  metamorphosis  in 
Hypatia's  lecture-room  is  indicated  with  delicacy  and 
art.      Nevertheless,   he   emboldens    himself   to   deliver 
his  soul  and  to  carry  out  what  he  had  resolved  upon. 


CHA  RLES  KINGSLE  V,  47 

He  states  his  case  and  denounces  the  idolatry  of  the 
old  religion. 

"  Idolatry  ! "  answered  she  with  a  smile.  "  My  pupil 
must  not  repeat  to  me  that  worn-out  Christian 
calumny.  Into  whatsoever  low  superstitions  the  pious 
vulgar  may  have  fallen,  it  is  the  Christians  now,  and 
not  the  heathens,  who  are  idolators.  They  who 
ascribe  miraculous  power  to  dead  men's  bones,  who 
make  temples  of  charnel  houses,  and  bow  before  the 
images  of  the  meanest  of  mankind,  have  surely  no 
right  to  accuse  of  idolatry  the  Greek  or  the  Egyptian, 
who  embodies  in  a  form  of  symbolic  beauty  ideas 
beyond  the  reach  of  words." 

*  *  *  H:  It 

"  Then,"  asked  Philammon  with  a  faltering  voice, 
yet  unable  to  restrain  his  curiosity,  "then  you  do 
reverence  the  heathen  gods  ? " 

And  in  reply,  she  upholds  her  religion  as  that  of  a 
worship  of  the  divine  incarnated  in  many  forms,  and 
declines  to  accept  Christianity  because  it  arrogates  to 
itself  the  exclusive  revelation  of  the  divine.  His 
intellect  is  open,  and  her  arguments  do  not  leave  him 
untouched :  he  dwells  on  the  ideas  she  has  expressed 
with  such  precision,  elevation,  and  poetical  sensibility, 
and  for  a  time  it  might  seem  as  though  Hypatia 
"had  taken  away  from  him  the  living  God  and  given 
him  instead  only  the  four  elements."  But  his  love 
for  his  sister  Pelagia,  in  midst  of  vice  and  indulgence, 
saves  him.  He  appeals  to  Hypatia  for  help  to  redeem 
her.      Instead^  Hypatia  offers    him  fine    distinctions, 


48  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

justifying  indifference  :  liis  sister  is  not  of  kin  with 
him  in  any  but  the  lower  links  of  fleshly  relationship. 
Let  her  alone,  Hypatia  argues,  to  go  her  own  way : 
she  is  not  worth  the  concern  of  a  philosopher.  There 
his  heart  rebels,  and  this  is  enough.  His  course  then 
becomes  clear  to  him  ;  Hypatia  incurs  the  hostility  of 
the  Christians  and  is  killed  ;  '•  the  Egyptian  Church,  in 
thus  seeking  to  extend  or  justify  itself  by  carnal 
weapons,  planted  a  sword  in  its  own  breast ; "  Philam- 
mon  saves  his  sister,  and  the  close  finds  them  in  the 
desert,  where  they  live  to  repent  of  past  errors  and 
to  prepare  for  noble  w^orks.  Goths,  Jews,  Greeks, 
Egyptians,  move  across  the  pages,  and  all  are  por- 
trayed with  the  distinctness  and  individuality  of  the 
master  hand.  The  slight  basis  of  history  is  enough — 
on  that  foundation  rises  a  lofty  structure,  harmonious, 
complete,  and  full  of  moral  significance  in  every  part. 
The  doubts,  the  struggles,  the  difficulties  of  to-day, 
the  temptations,  the  vague  aspirations  after  loftier 
ideals  and  purer  life  of  our  time  and  every  time  are 
delineated  there  though  under  the  conditions  of  the 
fifth  century.  It  is,  as  he  calls  it,  a  revelation  of 
New  Foes  under  an  Old  Face.  These  are  the  last 
words  in  the  book  : — 

"  And  now,  readers,  farewell.  I  have  shown  you 
New  Foes  under  an  Old  Face,  your  own  likenesses  in 
too-a  and  tunic,  instead  of  coat  and  bonnet.  One  word 
before  we  part.  The  same  devil  who  tempted  these 
old  Egyptians  tempts  you.  The  same  God  who  would 
have  saved  these  old  Egyptians,  if  they  had  willed, 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY,  49 

will  save  you,  if  you  will.  Their  sins  are  yours,  their 
errors  yours,  their  doom  yours,  their  deliverance  yours. 
There  is  nothinof  new  under  the  sun.  The  thing 
which  has  been,  it  is  that  which  shall  be.  Let  him 
that  is  without  sin  among  you  cast  the  first  stone, 
whether  at  Hypatia  or  Pelagia,  Miriam  or  Eaphael, 
Cyril  or  Philammon." 

And  these  are  the  first  words  in  the  book — the 
dedication  to  his  father  and  mother,  who,  at  the  date 
of  its  publication,  were  still  alive — words  as  charac- 
teristic of  Charles  Kingsley  in  his  noble  thought  as  in 
his  devotion  to  duty  and  all  the  ordinary  calls  of  his 
life  ;— 

"To  MY  Father  and  Mother. 

"My  dear  Parents, — 

"  When  you  shall  have  read  this  book,  and 
considered  the  view  of  human  relationships  which  is 
set  forth  in  it,  you  will  be  at  no  loss  to  discover  why 
I  have  dedicated  it  to  you  as  one  paltry  witness  of 
an  union  and  of  a  debt  which,  though  they  may  seem  to 
have  begun  with  birth,  and  to  have  grown  with  your 
most  loving  education,  yet  cannot  die  with  death,  but 
are  spiritual,  indefeasible,  eternal  in  the  heavens  with 
that  God  from  Whom  every  fatherhood  in  heaven  and 
earth  is  named.  "  C.  K." 


"  Westward  Ho  ! "  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  glowing 
record  of  action  and  adventure.  It  records  the  doings  of 
Oxenham  and  Yeo  and  their  gallant  bands  who  went 
forth  to  fight  for  England  at  the  time  of  the  Spanish 

D 


50  CHARLES  KIXGSLEY. 

domination.  Sir  Walter  lialeigh  also  \AiVph  liis  part. 
The  pictures  of  the  West  Indian  Islands,  Barbadoes 
and  the  rest,  are  just  as  vivid  and  realistic  as  are  the 
wonderful  landscapes  we  have  of  Devon  and  Cornwall ; 
and  the  descriptions  of  the  domestic  life  in  the  West 
of  England  in  those  days  are  in  every  respect  happy 
reproductions,  as  pure  and  beautiful  and  true  as  they 
are  unique.  Kingsley's  genius  shines  through  all, 
elevating,  transfiguring.  And  the  Armada  is  not  for- 
srotten.  It  is  a  book  which  will  lonq-  live — for  it  is 
history  in  its  most  alluring  aspect,  in  its  essence  and 
spirit,  brightened  by  imagination  and  creative  sym- 
pathy, without  which  history  is  dead,  a  mere  tomb- 
stone record  of  facts  and  dates.  "  Westward  Ho !  " 
is  living,  and  if  the  old  will  read  and  admire,  the 
young  must  be  moved  and  inspired  to  manlier  and 
loftier  purpose  as  they  read  of  England's  heroes  in 
these  fruitful  times, 

"  The  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth," 

as  Lord  Tennyson  calls  them  in  his  "Dream  of  Fair 
Women." 

These  two  fictions  show  Kingsley  at  work  in  con* 
trasted  spheres :  in  the  one  he  deals  with  lofty  specu*- 
lation,  subtle  conflicts  of  thought  and  belief,  spiritual 
aspiration,  refined  ideals ;  in  the  other,  with  action^ 
with  incident  of  the  most  exciting  and  picturesque 
kind.  To  read  these  two  books,  and  to  realize  tho 
reach  that  lay  between  them,  is  only  to  comprehend 
at  once  the  fineness  and  the  force  of  Kingsley's  genius. 


en  A  RLES  ICIJVGSLE  Y.  5t 

Both  powerfully  restore  the  life  of   the  past,  but  in 
each  how  different  the  life  delineated ! 

Kingsley  indeed,  was  one  of  the  most  vigorous 
painters  of  action  England  can  boast  of ;  and  what 
was  most  striking,  was  his  power  of  realizing  and  re- 
producing it  in  strong  historical  setting,  and  by  effective 
historic  contrasts.  Like  Sir  AYalter  Scott,  he  deliLihted 
in  the  dash  of  contest,  the  ring  of  steel ;  but  he  never, 
as  Sir  Walter  sometimes  did,  indulged  the  passion 
merely  for  its  own  sake.  He  always  had  some  ulterior 
end  in  his  fictions — either  purposely  to  illustrate  the 
ways  of  God  to  men,  or  to  show  how,  under  all  change 
of  forms,  the  heart  of  man  and  the  great  problems 
that  torment  him  really  remain  the  same  in  all  ages, 
"  Old  foes  under  new  faces,"  as  in  "  Hypatia ; "  or  to 
exhibit  the  peculiar,  invariable,  we  had  almost  said 
inevitable,  bent  of  race ;  or  the  workings  of  remorse 
and  long-deferred  penitence.  Carlyle  could  never  have 
objected  to  Kingsley,  as  he  did  to  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
that  he  had  no  sense  of  the  mysteries  of  life,  and  did 
nothing  to  stimulate  questioning  and  brooding  over 
the  problems  of  the  universe.  Kingsley  never  ceases 
to  feel  them,  and  to  force  their  consideration  on  the 
reader;  but  he  is  too  great  an  artist  to  do  this  asser- 
tively or  didactically.  To  exhibit  the  inevitable  bent 
of  race,  is  really  the  end  or  purpose  of  "  Hereward  the 
Wake  ;  or,  the  Last  of  the  English  ; "  and,  though  some 
have  deemed  the  colours  in  tliis  work  too  strong,  and 
the  lights  too  liigh,  the  passion  for  realistic  effect  in 
deadly  combat  too  openly  indulged,  it  is  nevertheless  a 


^2  CHARLES  KINGS  LEY. 

powerful  and,  in  certain  respects,  a  grand  work,  such  as 
could  only  have  been  written  by  one  who  had  prepared 
himself  for  this  kind  of  portraiture  and  description  l)y 
works  like  "  Westward  Ho ! "  Some,  indeed,  may 
doubt  if  such  a  subject,  in  some  of  its  phases,  ought 
thus  frankly  to  be  treated  imaginatively  at  all ;  but 
admit  the  artist's  unrestricted  right  of  choice  in  such  a 
held,  and  Kingsley  justifies  himself  by  his  vigour  and 
style  and  his  animating  moral  purpose  ;  for  Hereward's 
remorse  at  last  is  as  well  painted  as  his  action.  The 
Lightfoots  and  the  Ironhooks  are  as  real  and  living  as 
the  Leofrics  and  Herewards ;  and  the  old  fen-landscape, 
muddy,  reedy,  wild,  and  wan-coloured,  is  painted  in 
words  as  a  Millais,  had  he  lived  then,  would  have 
painted  it  in  colours.  And  never  surely  has  combat 
been  made  so  animated  on  the  printed  page.  The 
armour  glows  in  the  red  glare  of  sunset,  as  the  waters 
below  burn  with  golden  fire,  while  the  heroes  move 
and  sway  and  smite  each  other,  dark  against  the  bright 
palpitating  sky  ;  the  swords  ring  and  glance  and  rattle, 
we  see  the  dents  made  by  mighty  blows  on  plate  and 
shield ;  the  very  breasts  are  seen  to  move  and  swell 
even  under  that  heavy  armour,  the  lips  curve  and  then 
set  themselves  together  grandly  firm,  the  eyes  dilate 
and  sparkle  in  the  fierce  heat  of  fight.  And  how 
exquisitely  Kingsley  can  relieve  all  this  by  tender, 
vmexpected  touches  of  true  love  and  sweet  regret,  of 
quiet  pathos  and  sober  colouring,  of  which  there  are 
many  specimens,  but  none  perhaps  more  so  than  the 
picture  of  Hereward's  funeral. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  55 

"  Then  the  monks  silently  took  up  the  bier,  and  all 
went  forth,  and  down  tlie  Eoman  Road  toward  the  fen. 
They  laid  the  corpse  within  the  barge,  and  slowly 
rowed  away. 

Aud  past  the  Deeping,  down  the  Welland  streatn, 
By  winding  reaches  on,  and  shining  meres, 
Between  grey  reed-ronds  and  green  alder-beds, 
And  the  brown  horror  of  the  homeless  fen, 
A  dirge  of  monks  and  wail  of  women  rose 
In  vain  to  Heaven  for  the  last  Englishman ; 
Then  died  far  off  within  the  boundless  mist, 
And  left  the  ^N'orman  master  of  the  land." 

In  the  light  of  this  passage,  perhaps  the  reader  will 
look  on  Mr.  Panl  Gray's  fine  picture  of  the  funeral 
with  all  the  deeper  interest. 

When  v/e  read  such  lectures  as  those  on  "  The 
Roman  and  the  Teuton"  and  "Alexandria  and  her 
Schools,"  we  see  Charles  Kingsley  in  the  process  of  pre- 
paring himself  for  his  greater  stories — stories  of  passion 
and  sentiment,  or  of  action  and  adventure.  His  deep 
love  of  the  English  character,  in  spite  of  all  its  faults, 
of  which  he  is  not  unconscious,  arises  from  his  inborn 
admiration  of  true  manliness,  of  loyal  courage,  of  bull- 
dog tenacity  to  purposes  long  formed,  and  power  to 
endure  sustained  and  severe  privation  with  cheerfulness, 
all  engrafted  on  a  fitful  tenderness  and  seriousness  of 
mood,  wdiich  is  hidden  by  naive  unselfconscious  reserves. 
And  Kingsley  does  not  show  this  power  only  in  his 
books,  his  strength  lay  in  its  consistency  with  his  wliole 
character  and  conduct. 

Even  his  very  lenient  judgment   of   the  Eversley 


56  CHARLES  KINGSLEY, 

men  may  be  traced  to  the  same  source,  and  lio 
succeeded  with  them  as  he  did  simply  because  lie 
could  so  judge  them.  Whatever  else  in  Kingsley's 
idea  went  to  the  making  of  "  gentlemen  " — which,  it 
will  be  remembered,  he  says  these  old  poachers  and 
deer-stealers  were — chivalrous  manliness,  fearlessness, 
and  unhesitating  devotion  to  something  nobler  than  self 
were  with  him  essential. 

These  three  stories  named — each  characteristic  of 
the  author — are  pre-eminently  good  books  for  younger 
people,  though  they  are  certainly  not  of  the  kind  in 
which  there  is  any  condescension  to  juvenile  capacity. 
But  some  of  Kingsley's  books,  written  specially  for 
younger  readers,  may  well  claim  a  word  or  two  in 
these  pages.  Foremost  we  may  place  the  "  Greek 
Heroes,"  in  which  some  of  the  myths  of  ancient 
Greece  are  retold  with  rare  simplicity,  dignity,  and 
power  of  unfolding  the  wide  human  meanings  that 
informed  them  and  give  them  universal  significance. 
Then  comes  "  Glaucus ;  or,  the  Wonders  of  the  Sea- 
shore," in  which  we  have  a  series  of  lessons  in  a  most 
attractive  department  of  natural  history  made  as  light 
and  informing  as  a  story-book.  ''  Madam  How  and 
Lady  Why ;  or.  First  Lessons  in  Earth-lore  for  tlie 
Young,"  does  the  same  for  geology  as  "  Glaucus  "  does 
for  its  special  subJL'ct ;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of 
"  The  Water-babies  ;  or,  a  Fairy  Tale  for  a  Land  Baby," 
which  for  knowledge,  fancy,  and  lightsome  tact  of 
style  and  illustration,  is  one  of  tlie  most  delightful 
books  in  the  English  language. 


CHA  RL  ES  KINGSLE  V.  57 

There  is  much,  too,  that  young  readers  will  fully 
understand,  enjoy  and  profit  by  in  such  volumes  as 
those  entitled  "  Health  and  Education,"  "  Scientific 
Lectures  and  Essays  "  (for  even  wlien  Kingsley  has  a 
strictly  scientific  subject  he  never  fails  to  write 
popularly),  and  "  Sanitary  and  Social  Lectures,"  in 
which  he  conveys  many  wise,  practical  hints  in  phy- 
siology and  the  laws  of  health,  with  sensible  directions 
occasionally  even  in  matters  of  clothing,  dress,  and 
exercise.  He  was  not  one  of  those  clergymen  who 
forget  the  physical  frame  in  their  concern  for  the 
spiritual ;  he  always  desired  to  have  a  sound  mind 
in  a  sound  body  to  deal  with.  A  volume  of  selec- 
tions from  his  writings  has  been  compiled,  which  may 
be  found  very  acceptable  to  many  v/ho  may  not  be 
able  to  obtain  access  to  the  separate  volumes,  and 
this  will  suffice  to  communicate  some  sense  of  his 
power  and  many-sidedness,  his  concern  for  others,  and 
his  desire  to  promote  the  general  welfare,  though,  of 
course,  it  can  oive  little  or  no  idea  of  his  imaginative 
and  creative  genius. 

As  a  preacher,  Cliarles  Kingsley  was  very  simple, 
direct,  practical.  He  had  mastered  the  most  subtle 
points  in  theology,  and  had  been  very  careful  to 
connect  the  developments  of  theology  with  their 
historical  outcome  (in  this  he  had  a  close  resemblance 
to  Dean  Stanley),  but  this  did  not  much  appear  in 
his  preaching.  In  the  pulpit  he  was  always  more  the 
man  than  the  scholar  or  the  divine.  He  affected  no 
deep  learning,  though   every  sentence  told  of  thought 


58  CHA  RLES  KINGSL  E  Y. 

and  hard  study.     But  he  realized  hir,  audience  as  he 
composed  his  discourse.     His  sermons  were  uniformly 
colloquial  in  style,  charged  with   fine  common-sense, 
with   sympathy,   and   the    conviction  that   men   were 
united  by  sentiments  and  needs  far  more  radical  and 
permanent  than  anything  that  could  temporarily  divide 
them  and  set  them  in  opposition  to  eacli  other.     He 
saw   in   Christianity   the   grandest   lever   to    raise   all 
classes  to   one  level  in  the  perception  of  a  common 
destiny   and    a    common    fatherhood,    and    his    social 
labours  were  the  practical  illustrations  of  his  preach- 
ing.     The    slight    hesitancy    or    impediment    in    his 
speech,  which  was   so  noticeable  in  private  conversa- 
tion—especially  if    he   were    in    any    way    moved — 
strangely  enough,  disappeared  whenever  he  mounted 
the  pulpit ;  and  to  listen  to  his  clear  tones,  his  quiet 
earnest  persuasive  sentences,  rising  now  and  then  into 
a   subdued   white-heat   of    fervid  appeal,  was   indeed 
wortli    going    a    long    way    to    hear,    as    the    writer 
remembers  to  have   heard  it  at  Westminster   Abbey 
even  in  his  later  years,  and  when  symptoms  of  weak- 
ness had  begun  to  appear. 

Some  of  his  special  discourses  are  worthy  of  atten- 
tion for  their  frank  and  inspiring  character.  Among 
these  we  may  name,  "  True  Words  for  Brave  Men :  a 
Book  for  Soldiers'  and  Sailors'  Libraries."  He  never 
wearied  in  his  efforts  for  the  people,  to  introduce 
them  to  new  sources  of  knowledge  and  of  enjoyment. 
What  he  said  in  one  of  his  earlier  "Parson  Lot" 
letters  remained  the  faithful  utterance  of  his  senti- 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY,  59 

ments  on  this  subject  to  the  close.  In  it  he  urges 
the  refining  and  elevating  influence  of  beautiful  objects, 
and  points  out  how  picture-galleries  and  other  collec- 
tions micjht  be  turned  to  fuller  account : — 

''Never  lose  an  opportunity  of  seeing  anything  heauti- 
ful.  Beauty  is  God's  handwriting — a  wayside  sacra- 
ment ;  welcome  it  in  every  fair  face,  every  fair  sky, 
every  fair  flower ;  and  thank  for  it  Hira,  the  fountain 
of  all  loveliness,  and  drink  it  in,  simply  and  reverently, 
with  all  your  eyes :  it  is  a  charmed  draught,  a  cup  of 
blessing. 

"  Therefore  I  said  that  picture-galleries  should  be 
the  townsman's  paradise  of  refreshment.  Of  course, 
if  he  can  get  the  real  air,  the  real  trees,  even  for  an 
hour,  let  him  take  it  in  God's  name ;  but  how  many 
a  man  who  cannot  spare  time  for  a  daily  country 
walk,  may  well  slip  into  the  National  Gallery,  or  any 
other  collection  of  pictures,  for  ten  minutes.  That 
garden,  at  least,  flowers  as  gaily  in  winter  as  in 
summer.     Those   noble  faces   on  the  wall  are  never 

disfigured  by  grief  or  passion God  made  you 

love  beautiful  things  only  because  He  intends  hereafter 
to  give  you  your  fill  of  them." 

Charles  Ivingsley  is  one  of  the  few  whose  spirit  was 
contagious,  whose  influence  was  strictly  personal.  Even 
in  the  most  dramatic  of  his  books,  in  the  most  theo- 
logical of  his  sermons,  this  is  powerfully  felt.  His 
grace  was  to  communicate  of  himself,  of  his  life,  his 
knowledge,  his  heart  and  affection,  with  the  force 
peculiar  to  him.     The  inspiring  motive  of  his  life  he 


6o  CHARLES  KINGS LE  V. 

lias  unconsciously  summed  up  in  one  verse  of  the  sweet 
little  poem  he  wrote  to  one  of  his  daughters : — 

"  Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever. 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long: 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  for-evcr 
One  grand,  sweet  song." 

In  this  lay  at  once  the  secret  of  his  success  with 
the  peasants  ab  Eversley  as  with  the  cultured  and 
learned  throughout  the  world.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  cold  student  or  remote  speculative  observer  in 
him.  His  heart  beat  warm  and  true.  Whatever 
faults  he  may  have  had,  that  of  cold  critical  reserve 
and  bloodlessness  could  not  be  included  among  them. 
He  was  an  artist  in  his  power  of  representation,  of 
sympathy,  and  of  patient  observation,  but  he  had  as 
few  of  the  faults  of  the  artistic  temperament  as  of  the 
scientific  one.  He  could  never  find  satisfaction  in  any 
mere  beauty  of  form.  He  demanded  common  human 
interest,  action,  to  feel  the  beatings  of  the  heart.  His 
own  works  of  fiction  declare  this.  As  Carlyle  said,  some- 
times they  show  restlessness,  and  promise  more  than 
they  perform ;  but,  however  clearly  we  may  perceive  all 
this,  Kingsley's  victory  is  that  we  are  only  the  more 
keenly  interested  in  him,  drawn  to  him  the  more  as 
a  man,  and  are  the  more  willing  to  surrender  to  him 
our  affectionate  regards.  When  he  passed  away  on 
the  23rd  of  January,  i  875,  it  was  felt  by  all  who  stood 
highest  in  English  life — in  literature,  in  art,  in  science, 
and  in  social  improvement — that  a  great  man  had 
passed,  whose  heart  and  intellect  kept  tune ;  so  that 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY. 


6i 


tlioiidi  "his  life  was  one  of  restless  and  most  varied 
effort,  a  sweet  unity  pervaded  it  and  made  it  fragrant, 
full  of  lessons  and  upliftings  alike  for  mind  and  heart. 
And  to  feel  this  afresh,  or  to  realize  it  for  the  first 
time,  the  older  people  have  only  to  renew  acquaintance 
with  his  writings,  and  the  younger  folks  to  begin  the 
studious  perusal  of  them.  Tliey  will  certainly  not 
miss  their  reward. 

Alexander  H.  Japp. 


KINCSLEX  S   GRAVE   AT   EVERSLEV, 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


/ 


'•  So  should  we  live,  that  every  honr 
May  die  as  dies  the  natural  flower, — 
A  Sell-reviving  thing  of  power  ; 

That  every  thought  and  every  deed 
May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 
Of  future  good  and  future  meed." 

Lord  Houghton. 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


HE  romance  of  the  Episcopate  is  gone  "  said 
some  one,  when  the  fatal  stumble  of  Bishop 
Wilberforce's  horse  arrested  his  bright  and 
versatile  career.  In  the  death  of  Dean 
Stanley  of  Westminster  much  more  than 
the  romance  of  any  one  order,  or  function' 
in  the  Church  of  which  he  was  the  glory  and  strength, 
was  extinguished.  The  Bishop  of  Winchester  was  a 
great  prelate  of  the  Anglican  communion.  The  Dean 
of  Westminster  was  a  great  churchman  in  that  wider 
and  higher  sense  which  overlooks  the  barriers  that 
divide  one  communion  from  another.  We  should 
hardly  exaggerate  if  we  said  tliat  when  he  died,  Dean 
Stanley  stood  higher  in  the  respect  and  affection  of  a 
larger  and  more  varied  circle  of  members  of  many 
churches    than    any  other   ecclesiastic   in   the   world. 

E 


66  DEA  N  S  TA  NL  E  K 

By  all  in  liis  own  Church,  at  home  and  abroad,  except 
a  few  standing  at  two  opposite  extremes  of  fanatical 
intolerance,  he  w^as  held  in  esteem  and  honour.  The 
English  Nonconformists  recomized  in  him  a  friend, 
who  understood  their  position  and  sympathized  with 
their  best  traditions.  In  Scotland  his  name  was  a 
household  word ;  and  even  tlie  ultra-Calvinists,  who 
could  not  find  the  "  root  of  the  matter "  in  him,  and 
the  ultra-Presbyterians,  who  hold  tliat  "  the  deil  and 
the  dean  Ijcgin  wi'  ae  letter,"  forgot  their  rigidities  in 
his  genial  presence.  On  the  Continent,  in  all  societies, 
from  that  of  the  Papal  Court  to  the  modest  home  of 
the  Protestant  "  pasteur " — from  the  palaces  of  St. 
Petersburg  or  Berlin  to  the  quiet  library  of  DolliDger 
— among  Eoman  Catholics,  Old  Catholics,  Lutherans, 
and  Eeformed,  his  great  position,  his  many-sided 
affinities,  his  social  charm  and  grace,  his  intellectual 
eminence,  won  for  him  a  universal  welcome.  In 
America,  all  cliurches  and  classes  received  him  with 
open  arms.  They  seemed  to  see  in  him  the  repre- 
sentative, and,  as  it  were,  the  custodian,  of  all  that  old- 
world  culture  which  so  controls  their  republican  imagi- 
nation, and  wdiich  is  so  seldom  united — as  it  was  in 
him — with  an  open-hearted  sympathy  with  the  beauty 
and  the  hopefulness  of  all  that  is  young  and  new. 
"  The  Dean  of  Society "  he  vras  sometimes  called  by 
people  whose  outlook  does  not  range  beyond  the  smoke 
of  London;  but  on  many  societies  which  liad  scarce 
any  other  link  to  that  great  Babel,  and  on  many 
churches  whose  names  no  one  in  London  but  himself 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


67 


knew  or  cared  for,  the  tidings  that  he  too  had  "  gone 
over  to  the  majority  "  fell  like  a  cold  eclipse. 

In  Dean  Stanley  we  see  the  best  principles  of  liberal 
thought,  of  advanced  culture,  of  personal  religion,  with- 
out those  excesses  and  limitations  by  which  they  are 
too  often  impaired  and  hampered.      LiberaUsm  without 


DEAN   STANLEY  S   FATHER. 


destructiveness ;  culture  without  moral  indifference ; 
piety  without  fanaticism,  are  not  so  common  that, 
when  we  see  them  in  one  just  combination,  we  can 
afford  to  be  indifferent  to  their  beauty. 

He   liad   seen   the   possibility  of   this   co?nbination 
realized   in   his   own   father.     In   the  preface  to    the 


63  DEAN  STANLEY, 

"  Memoirs  of  Edward  and  Catherine  Stanley,"  he  says, 
in  reference  to  the  Bishop  of  ISTorwich's  work  as  a 
parish  priest  and  as  a  prelate : 

"There  existed"  (apart  from  all  connection  with 
the  Oxford  movement  of  i  834)  "  a  sound  form  of  moral 
and  religious  life,  not  the  less  admirable  because  it 
sprang  from  a  zeal  tempered  by  common  sense,  and 
because  it  aimed — not  so  much  at  the  interest  of  a 
party,  or  even  of  a  church,  as  at  the  good  of  the 
whole  community.  ISTor  is  it  without  interest  to 
follow  the  career  of  one  who,  both  politically  and 
ecclesiastically,  belonged  to  the  liberal  movement  of 
the  day,  in  whom  the  passion  for  reform  and  improve- 
ment, which  characterized  that  movement,  had  not  yet 
been  superseded  by  the  passion  for  destruction." 

"  Such  a  type  of  liberal " — adds  the  Dean,  with  a 
touch  of  that  quiet  scorn  which  he  could  apply  so 
gently,  but  effectively — "  would  not,  perhaps,  altogether 
fulfil  some  modern  exactions,  but  it  was  not  thought 
unworthy  of  the  kindness  and  friendship  of  such 
ecclesiastics  as  Eeginald  Heber,  i\  mold,  and  Milman, 
or  such  statesmen   as  Lord  Melbourne,  Lord   Piussell, 

and  Lord  Lansdowne." 

The  influence  of  this  father  was  prolonged  and 
strengthened  when  his  son  became  Arnold's  pupil  at 
Eugby.  Few  men  have  left  behind  them  so  little 
written,  in  proportion  to  the  much  imparted,  as  Arnold. 
His  pupils  were  his  "living  epistles."  They  carried 
out  of  Rugby  not  only  an  inspiring  reverence  for  their 
master,  and  devotion  to  the  good  to  which  they  saw 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


69 


he  was  devoted,  but  the  living  influence  of  principles 
that  are  at  the  root  of  all  useful  social,  political,  or 
religious  progress.  To  perpetuate  these  principles  of 
rational   godliness,  to    translate    Arnold   into  English 


HALL,    CHRIST   CHURCH,    OXFORD. 


life  and  character,  thought  and  action,  Stanley  re- 
garded as  his  first  duty  in  tlie  worhl  when,  as  Fellow 
of  University  College,  Oxford,  he  entered  on  his  pro- 
fessional career.  One  part  of  that  duty  was  discharged 
in  writiuG^  his  master's  life. 


70  DEAN  STANLEY. 

That  house  at  Eugby,  said  Carlyle,  was  "  one  of  the 
rarest  sights  in  the  world — a  temple  of  industrious 
peace."  The  "  Life "  which  depicted  that  noble  in- 
dustry was  Stanley's  first  literary  work ;  and  nothing 
he  wrote  afterwards  outweighed  it  in  real  value  and 
interest.  It  preserved  and  concentrated,  in  a  literary 
form  of  rare  excellence,  the  impressions  produced,  by 
Arnold's  strong  opinions  and  emphatic  personality,  on 
the  most  sympathetic  and  capable  of  the  minds  that 
he  had  trained.  The  book  was  published  in  1 844. 
Next  year  its  author  became  "  Select  Preacher "  to 
the  University,  and  six  years  later  a  Canon  of 
Canterbury;  in  1853,  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical 
History  at  Oxford  and  Canon  of  Christ  Church ;  and 
finally,  in  1863,  Dean  of  Westminster.  These  are 
the  several  steps  of  his  ecclesiastical  preferment,  the 
last  of  which  admitted  him  to  the  very  place  in 
the  Church  which,  one  would  say,  he  had  been  born 
to  fill. 

Throughout  these  grades  of  professional  advance- 
ment he  rapidly  acquired  literary  fame.  He  never 
was  much  of  a  theologian,  in  the  scientific  sense ; 
and  no  one  would  think  of  adding  his  name  to 
the  illustrious  roll  which  records  the  names  of  the 
Barrows,  the  Souths,  the  Taylors  of  the  past,  and  of 
the  Maurices,  and  others,  of  the  present,  who  have 
swayed  the  whole  religious  thought  of  their  generation. 
His  bent  was  towards  the  characters,  scenes,  associa- 
tions of  the  past,  in  tlieir  relation  to  the  wants  and 
interests  of  the  living  present;    and  he  gave  it  full 


DEAN  STANLEY,  71 

scope  in  that  series  of  brilliant  works  which  he  de- 
voted to  the  illustration  of  the  liistory  of  the  Jewish  and 
the  Eastern  Churches  ;  the  scenes  and  traditions  of  Sniai 


TUM   TOWER,    CHKIST   CHURCH,    OXFORD. 

and  Palestine  ;  and  the  memorials  of  the  great  cathedral 
and  the  great  abbey  at  whose  altars  he  had  served. 
Exact  dogmatists  might  mark  here  and  there  a  vague- 
ness of  definition  ;  keen  critics  might  detect  a  histori- 
cal inaccuracy  at  this  or  that  minor  point ;  but  no  one 


72  DEAN  STANLE  V, 

in  reading  any  of  Lis  books  could  misunderstand  the 
firm  faith  in  a  Divine  righteousness  and  love,  the 
generous  width  of  human  sympathy,  the  lofty  scorn 
of  moral  baseness,  the  just  and  clear  view  of  the  real 
principles  involved  in  any  question,  the  love  of  truth, 
tliat  slione  over  e\'ery  page;  and  the  dullest  eye  could 
not  but  kindle  as  it  traced  the  splendid  panoramas 
in  which  he  unrolled  the  history  of  the  Jewish  or  the 
Oriental  Church,  the  traditions  of  the  Desert  and  the 
Promised  Land,  or  the  records  of  his  own  Westminster. 

His  faculty  of  vivid  reproduction  of  the  past,  of 
picturesque  illustration,  of  adaptation  of  every  collateral 
aid  and  association  in  producing  the  one  perfect  im- 
pression he  wished  to  fix  in  the  memory,  was  un- 
equalled by  any  literary  craft  we  have  ever  known. 
This  faculty,  and  the  wonderful  tact  and  skill  with 
which  he  wielded  it,  never  showed  to  greater  advantage 
than  in  one  of  his  lesser,  but  most  exquisite  and 
characteristic  performances — his  first  Eectorial  address 
at  St.  Andrews.  We  remember  well  two  passages  in 
point,  and  the  affectionate  enthusiasm  which  they 
stirred  in  his  youthful  hearers.  We  quote  but  one. 
Eeferring  to  the  young  Alexander  Stuart,  the  pupil  of 
Erasmus,  the  boy  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews,  who, 
when  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  fell  by  the  side  of  his 
father,  James  IV.,  at  Flodden,  he  said : — 

"  Of  all  '  the  flowers  of  the  forest '  that  were  there 
'  wede  away,'  surely  none  was  more  lovely  than  this 
young  Marcellus  of  the  Scottish  Church.  If  he  fell 
under  the  memorable  charge  of  my  namesake  on  that 


CLOISTERS,    CHRIST  CHURCH,    OXFORD. 


DEAN  STANLEY.  ys 

fatal  day,  may  lie  accept,  thus  late,  the  lament  which 
a  kinsman  of  his  foe  would  fain  pour  over  his  untimely 
bier." 

To  recount  his  literary  works,  so  manifold  were  they, 
would  occupy  pages.  In  addition  to  the  "  Life  of 
Arnold,"  tlie  "  Sinai  and  Palestine,"  the  "  Lectures  on 
the  Jewish  and  Eastern  Churches,"  and  the  "  Historical 
Memorials  "  of  Canterbury  and  of  Westminster,  already 
referred  to,  he  published  three  or  four  volumes  of 
sermons,  and  one  or  two  of  lectures  and  addresses,  two 
volumes  of  commentary  on  the  Epistles  to  the  Corin- 
thians, "  Essays  on  Church  and  State,"  "  Lectures  on 
the  Church  of  Scotland,"  and  several  minor  works — 
to  say  nothing  of  constant  contributions  to  reviews, 
magazines,  and  leading  journals. 

A  word  may  fitly  be  said  of  his  connection 
with  Good  Words,  under  tlie  editorship  of  Norman 
Macleod ;  for  some  incidents  to  which  it  gave  rise  are 
strikingly  illustrative  of  the  kind  of  hostility  his 
influence  sometimes  aroused.  He  cordially  recognized 
in  Good  Words  an  attempt  to  fulfil  one  of  the  ideas  of 
his  master,  Arnold — the  circulation  of  a  popular  litera- 
ture, cheaply  supplied,  and  dealing  with  as  wide  a 
range  of  subjects  as  possible,  in  a  Christian  tone,  but 
without  sectarian  or  dogmatic  bias — a  fusion  of  the 
religious  and  the  secular.  The  innnense  success  of 
the  experiment  roused  opposition  in  some  quarters ; 
and  the  Eecord  newspaper  felt  it  necessary  to  make  a 
series  of  attacks  on  Good  Words  and  its  chief  con- 
tributors. 


76  DEAN  STANLEY. 

"  Foremost  amidst  this  motley  group,"  said  the 
Eccorcl  (and  we  quote  the  passage,  only  because  of 
what  it  evoked,  in  reply,  from  Norman  Macleod ;  and 
because  it  is  a  specimen  of  the  kind  of  language 
freely  applied  to  Stanley,  throughout  his  life,  by  the 
Evangelical  organs),  "  we  discern  the  Eev.  A.  P. 
Stanley,  the  friend  of  Professor  Jowett,  the  advocate 
of  '  Essays  and  Eeviews,'  *  the  historical  traducer  of 
Phinehas,  the  son  of  Eleazar,  and  others  of  the 
Hebrew  worthies,"  &c.  &c.  "  I  was  threatened  in 
London "  —  wrote  the  editor  of  Good  Words  in 
May,  1862 — "that  unless  I  gave  up  Stanley  and 
Kingsley,  I  should  '  be  crushed.'  ....  Strahan  and  I 
agreed  to  let  Good  Words  perish  a  hundred  times, 
before  we  would  play  such  a  false  part  as  this. 
Good  Words  may  perish,  but  I  will  never  save  it  by 
such  sacrifices  of  principle." 

Stanley  deserved  such  loyalty  from  his  friends  and 
coadjutors,  for  no  man  was  ever  more  loyal  to  them, 
and  to  all  who  needed  the  help  of  his  sympathy  and 
support.  Amid  the  uproar  raised  about  the  "  Essays 
and  Pteviews,"  he  held  out  his  friendly  hand  to  the 
authors.  When  Dr.  Colenso  was  under  the  ban  of 
Convocation  he  asked  him  to  preach  in  the  Abbey. 
When  Pere  Hyacinthe  broke  with  the  Eoman  hier- 
archy, and   encountered   the  ecclesiastical   and  social 

*  A  volume  of  essays,  published  in  i860.  The  authors  were 
clergymen  ;  and  at  that  time  public  opinion  did  not  favour  so 
much  freedom  of  opinion  among  clergymen  as  it  does  at 
present. 


VEAN  STANLE  Y.  77 

ostracism  which  visited  his  marriage,  he  found  refuge 
and  countenance  for  himself  and  his  "vvife  in  the 
Deanery.  The  vilified  name,  the  lost  cause,  the 
unfriended  struggler,  never  appealed  in  vain  to 
Stanley's  generous  chivalry.  It  was  this  sentiment, 
more  than  any  other,  that  urged  him  to  withstand 
for  a  time  the  popular  objection  to  giving  to  the  last 
Xapoleon  a  niche  in  our  Walhalla. 

His  thoughtful  kindness,  the  personal  trouble  he 
would  take  to  do  one  a  service,  were  remarkable  in  a 
man  so  engrossed  in  society  and  affairs. 

His  unselfish  consideration  for  the  interests  of  those 
who  were  but  privates  in  the  ranks  of  literature,  in 
which  he  was  a  renowned  chief,  was  a  form  of 
brotherly  kindness  of  wliich  few  of  us  have  had 
much  experience.  He  would  go  out  of  his  way  to 
introduce  in  an  article,  or  even  in  a  note  at  a  page- 
foot,  a  commendatory  notice  of  a  work  in  w^hich  he 
took  an  interest,  especially  if  the  author  were  young, 
or  appeared  specially  in  need  of  it.  And  he  liked 
one  to  be  av/are  that  he  took  pains  to  do  this.  "  I 
do  not  know  whether  you  detected  the  track  of  a 
friend  in  two  recent  Scottish  biographies  in  the  Timcsl^ 
he  wrote  to  us  after  one  of  these  kindly  feats.  Again 
referrin;::  to  an  article  in  which  a  critic  had  straved 
from  his  text — as  he  thought — in  order  to  vent  a 
personal  grudge  :  "  I  forget  whether  I  ever  expressed 
to  you  my  annoyance  at  the  gratuitous  attack  upon 
you  in  the  Edhihuvfjli  Bcxiciv,  by  I  know  not  whom. 
I  did  what  little  I  could  by  going  also  beyond   my 


73  DEAN  STANLEY, 

tetlier  iu  making  a  short  counter-blast,  in  an  article 
wliicli  I  wrote  in  the  Times  shortly  after." 

During  these  years  of  growing  literary  activity  and 
fame,  the  principal  incidents  of  his  outward  life  were 
the  Eastern  journey  in  1852—3,  which  suggested  his 
"  Sinai  and  Palestine ; "  his  second  expedition  to  the 
East,  with  the  Prince  of  Wales,  just  before  his 
appointment  to  Westminster;  his  marriage,  in  1863, 
to  Lady  Augusta  Bruce ;  his  mission  to  Eussia  to 
solemnize  the  EnGjlish  marriagje  of  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Edinburgh  in  1874;  and  a  visit  to  the 
United  States  in  1878.  Throughout  this  period,  and 
especially  after  his  coming  to  the  Abbey,  he  identified 
himself  more  and  more  with  the  maintenance  of  tho 
principles  that  go  by  the  name  of  Broad  Churchism, 
but  which  are,  in  fact,  simply  the  principles  of  com- 
mon sense  and  Christian  freedom  applied  to  theological 
and  ecclesiastical  questions.  He  was  the  natural 
leader  of  the  Broad  Church  party,  although  he  was 
in  no  sense  a  partisan,  and  never  aimed  at  party 
successes,  or  desired  any  triumphs  except  those  of 
tolerance  and  charity.  Alike  from  the  pulpit,  through 
the  press,  and  in  Convocation,  he  fouglit  a  good  fight 
(and  in  Convocation  always  against  a  hostile  majority) 
for  the  principle  that  the  National  Church  should  be 
comprehensive  and  not  exclusive — should  tolerate  and 
not  persecute.     Alike  in  the  old  Gorham  *  controversy 

*  Mr.  Gorham,  a  clergyman,  was  subjected  to  legal  proceed- 
ings because  his  views  concerning  the  effect  of  baptism  were 
legarded  by  the  then  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  as  unsound. 


DEAN  STANLE  V.  79 

and  in  the  latest  ritualistic  squabbles,  he  pleaded  for 
liberty  and  forbearance.  He  refused  to  let  the  Pan- 
Anglican  Synod  identify  its  ineffective  council  with 
the  august  name  of  the  Abbey.  He  admitted  the 
revisers  of  the  Bible  to  the  Communion  in  Henry  YII.'s 
chapel,  though  one  of  them  was  a  Unitarian.  As  the 
law  excluded  all  non-Anoiican  divines  from  Andican 
pulpits,  he  devised  those  services  in  the  nave  of 
Westminster,  at  which,  without  violation  of  the  statute, 
he  could  gratify  his  catholicity  of  feeling,  and  give 
expression  to  his  idea  of  the  relation  of  the  Abbey  to 
the  religion  of  the  country  at  large,  by  selecting  the 
preacher  either  from  the  ranks  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland  or  of  Englisli  iSTonconformity. 

Although  a  clergyman,  Stanley  never  held  a  cure  of 
souls.  His  flock,  pent  in  no  single  fold,  embraced  the 
many,  of  various  classes  and  characters,  who  found  in 
him  a  helpful  and  intelligent  symimthy  they  found  in  no 
other.  That  word  recurs  as  often  as  we  speak  of  him 
— for  no  other  describes  his  idiosyncrasy — that  human- 
hearted  brotherliness,  into  which  no  trace  of  self- 
consciousness  or  of  officialism  ever  intruded.  His 
congregation  was  that  great  eclectic  multitude  that, 
Sunday  after  Sunday,  thronged  the  Abbey,  and  listened 
to  the  tremulous  yet  penetrating  voice,  with  its  rhythmic 
cadences,  which  always  uttered  a  message  of  high 
religious  purpose,  of  peace  and  reconciliation ;  and  at 
any  public  crisis,  or  after  any  national  loss,  enforced, 
with  perfect  grace  and  wise  moderation,  the  proper 
lesson,,  or  paid  the  fitting  tribute,  or  pointed  the  essen- 


8o  DBA  IV  S  TA  NLE  Y, 

tial  moral.  In  listening  to  Stanley  men  felt  that  here 
was  one,  occupying  a  place  which  socially,  ecclesiasti- 
cally, intellectually,  was  a  coign  of  vantage  unequalled 
in  England,  if  not  in  Christendom,  who  had  an  open 
mind,  and  an  unbiassed  judgment  for  every  new  specu- 
lation, project,  or  interest  that  affected  the  thoughts  of 
his  countrymen,  and  whose  great  desire  was  to  bring 
all  these  into  harmony  not  with  an  ecclesiastical  or 
dogmatic  system^  but  with  the  essentials  of  the  Christian 
faith.  With  this  faith  his  conviction  was  that  all 
scientific  and  historic  truth  could  be,  and  would  yet 
be,  reconciled. 

His  marriage,  which  followed  his  preferment  to 
Westminster,  wrought  a  great  change  in  Stanley's  life. 
Hitherto  he  had  not  entered  much  into  society,  and 
had  been  but  a  visitor  in  London.  Under  Lady 
Augusta's  sway  the  Deanery,  which  was  now  his  home, 
became  one  of  the  most  distinguished  salons  of  the 
metropolis.  iVll  that  was  best,  freshest,  brightest  in 
society,  found  a  centre  of  cordial  reunion  there.  His 
wife's  intimacy  witli  the  Queen,  acquired  through  her 
former  position  in  the  household,  drew  him  into  closer 
relations  with  the  Court.  The  Quardian  of  the  Jeru- 
salem  Chamber  felt  the  pleasurable  obligation  of  ex- 
tending a  brotherly  hospitality  to  the  clergy.  Men  of 
science  and  of  letters  found  at  once  encouragement  and 
relaxation  in  his  wife's  cordial  and  gracious  kindness, 
and  in  his  keen  sympathy  with  all  progress  and  dis- 
covery, and  the  varied  flow  of  his  charming  conversa- 
tion.    Pilgrims   to   the   Abbey,   with   any   intelligent 


ARTHUR   PENRHYN   STANLEY. 

From  a  Photograph  hy  Abel  Leivis,  Do/cg/as,  Isle  of  Man. 


1' 


DEAN  STANLEY.  83 

knowledge  of  its  history  and  love  of  its  character,  were 
always  welcome  at  the  Deanery. 

No  one  who  ever  entered  that  door,  or  sat  at  that 
table,  can  forget  how  the  old  house  was  brightened 
with  the  winning  sunshine  of  the  presence  of  his  wife. 
Until  his  marriage,  he  used  to  say,  he  had  never  really 
lived.  After  her  death,  it  w^as  plain  to  his  friends 
that  he  felt  the  glory  and  joy  of  life  for  him  were  over. 
To  one  who  had  written  expressing  his  sense  of  her 
unfailing  kindness,  and  recalling  a  trait  in  which  it 
had  manifested  its  tender  and  minute  thou'Tht  for 
others,  he  replied  after  a  while,  "  I  never  wrote  to 
thank  you  for  your  kind  letter  to  me  in  the  first  days 
of  my  great  affliction.  I  valued  it  especially,  because 
it  added  one  more  to  the  many  memorials  of  herself, 
even  in  small  details,  which  my  dear  wife  left — and 
has  I  trust  left  for  ever — on  all  who  have  known  her 
for  ever  so  short  a  time.  To  keep  up  the  recollection 
of  her  in  the  remembrance  of  those  who  did  so  know 
her,  and  in  trying  to  fulfil  what  she  desired  to  be  done, 
is  my  chief  consolation."  To  her  aid  and  sympathy  in 
all  his  work  he  bore  touching  testimony  in  the  dedica- 
tion of  the  volume  of  Lectures  on  the  Jewish  Church, 
published  in  1876,  the  year  of  her  death:  ''To  the 
beloved  memory  of  the  inseparable  partner  in  every 
joy  and  every  struggle  of  twelve  eventful  years,  this 
volume,  the  solicitude  and  solace  of  her  latest  days,  is 
dedicated,  with  the  humble  prayer  that  its  aim  »^iay 
not  be  altogether  unworthy  of  her  sustaining  love,  ner 
inspiring  courage,  and  her  never-failing  faith  in  the 


84  DEAN  ST  A  NLE  V. 

enlargement  of  the  Church  and  the  triumph  of  all 
truth." 

Her  death,  while  it  desolated  the  Deanery,  removed 
one  of  the  hrightest  and  purest  elements  of  the  life 
of  London  society.  The  Dean  was  no  visionary  who 
should  think  that  anything  he  could  do  or  say 
would  prevail  to  change  "  the  gum-flowers  of 
Almack's  into  living  roses  in  the  garden  of  God ; " 
but,  knowing  the  religious  formalism  and  social  cor- 
ruption of  the  society  in  which  he  moved,  he  trusted 
to  the  wholesome  influence  that  such  a  presence  as  his 
wife's  must  exercise,  and  which  might  reach  and  touch 
some  of  those  whom  the  conventionaHties  of  life  render 
almost  inaccessible  to  direct  religious  appeal.  Her 
rank,  her  talents,  her  purity  and  piety,  joined  to  his 
own  great  position,  were  forces  on  the  side  of  the 
social  good  which  was  his  ideal,  the  withdrawal  of 
which  from  his  side  left  him  with  a  melancholy  sense 
of  weakness  and  solitude. 

Probably  no  Englishman — certainly  no  English 
ecclesiastic — ever  appreciated  Scottish  life  and  character 
as  the  Dean  did.  There  is  a  complacent  Anglican 
ignorance  which  wraps  everything  north  of  the  Tweed 
in  its  contented  folds,  and  to  which  Scottish  afl'airs — 
especially  Scottish  Church  aflairs — are  as  blank  as  the 
Australian  desert.  He  had  none  of  this.  He  knew 
Scottish  history — particularly  Scottish  Church  history 
— better  than  most  Scotsmen.  He  had  the  keenest 
sense  of  the  humour,  the  shrewdness,  the  kindliness,  of 
Scottish  character.     "  You  know  well,"  writes  one  who 


DEAN  S TA NLE  V.  85 

was  much  with  him,  "  how  he  enjoyed  Scotland,  appre- 
ciated  the   Scotch   clergy   and   the   people;    ar.d    Sir 
Walter  Scott  amused  and  delighted  him  to  the  last." 
"  Find  '  Guy  Mannering/  and  let  me  take  the  taste  out 
of  my  mouth,"  he  said  not  long  before  his  death,  after 
looking  rapidly  through  the  three  volumes  of  a  dreary 
modern  novel,  which  some  one  had  strongly  commended 
to   him.      During  the  last   weeks   of   Lady  Augusta's 
illness  he  beguiled  some  of  the  heavy  hours  by  reading 
"  Old  Mortality  "  aloud.    Sometimes,  overcome  A\'ith  the 
thought  of  the  approaching   calamity,  he   would   burst 
into  tears,  and  then  take  up  the  book  and  o-q  on  a^^ain. 
He   rather   scandalized   the   Scottish    Pharisees  by 
emphasizing,  in   his  Edinburgh   lectures,  the  services 
rendered  to  religion   by   Walter  Scott,  and  by  Eobert 
Burns,  "  the  prodigal  son  of  the  Church  of   Scotland." 
He  delighted  in  any  tale  of  Scotch  superstition,  any 
scrap  of  folk-lore,  any  anecdote  illustrating  the  national 
peculiarities,  social  or  theological.     Such  an  aspiration 
as  tliat  of  the  old  Free  Kirk  minister,   "  Oh !  that  we 
were   all  baptized  into   the  Spirit  of   the  Disruption," 
was  to  him  as  a  chord  of  quaint  music   to   the   ear  of 
a  master — disclosing  a  new  harmony,  and  to  be  stored 
in  memory  for  future  use.     A  ghost  story  told  him  ''  in 
the   dreary  autumn  of    1877,  in    the  dark  woods   of 
liosneath,"  emerged,  in  the  October  Fraser  of  1880,  as 
the  text  of  the  narrative  of  as  original  and  exhaustive 
an  historical   quest  and  discovery,  as   an  explorer  of 
legend  and  relic  ever  undertook. 

The  General  Assembly  always  was  an  object  of  great 


86  DEAN  STANLE  Y. 

interest  to  him ;  he  studied  its  "  overtures,"  and  read 
its  debates,  and  one  year  he  attended  its  meetings. 
He  was  impressed  with  the  fairness  with  which  the 
Assembly  listened  to  a  long  and  aggressive  speech, 
altogether  out  of  accord  with  the  oj^inions  of  the 
majority.  "  I  should  not  have  been  listened  to  half  as 
patiently  in  Convocation,"  he  remarked.  From  the 
Established  he  went  to  the  Free  Assembly,  when  some 
wild  man  from  the  north  was  fulminating.  "  I  saw 
Habakkuk  Mucklewrath,"  \\as  one  of  his  comments 
thereafter — delivered  with  the  bright  smile  and  quick 
confidential  intonation  that  pointed  his  humorous 
sentences.  "The  honorary  member  of  all  religions" — 
"  the  chief  Nonconformist  in  the  Church  of  England  " 
■ — as  aggrieved  Sacerdotalists  would  sneeringly  describe 
him,  liked  nothing  better  than  to  show  his  catholicity 
by  preaching  in  Scottish  pulpits.  He  once  even  attended 
a  United  Presbyterian  "soiree"  somewhere  near  Broom- 
hall  ;  and,  in  fact,  exhibited  a  light-hearted  disregard 
of  priestly  conventionalities  and  pomposities  which 
made  the  Scotch  prelatists,  with  whom  he  never  allied 
himself,  wrini>-  their  hands  in  horror. 

Stanley  was  a  loyal  son  of  the  Church  of  England, 
but  to  him  her  reformation  was  as  dear  as  her 
catholicity ;  nor  did  he  regard  her  catholic  character 
as  determined  by  her  form  of  government.  A  bishop 
was,  in  his  eyes,  a  useful  church  functionary  and 
nothing  more.  He  used  to  congratulate  himself  that, 
as  the  successor  of  the  Abbots  of  Westminster,  he  was 
independent  of  the  whole  bench  of  bishops.     It   was, 


DEAN  STANLEY.  87 

perhaps,  this  personal  independence,  as  well  as  his  love 
of  liberty,  of  free  discussion,  and  of  popular  rather 
than  priestly  government  in  the  Church,  that  led  him 
to  cultivate  such  close  relations  to  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land, and  especially  to  those  of  its  clergy  who  might 
be  called  Broad  Churchmen.  His  sympathy  with  that 
party,  combined  with  his  wish  to  do  justice  to  the 
principles  which  he  believed  the  Presbyterian  Church 
had  represented  in  the  past,  and  with  his  desire  to 
bear  his  testimony,  at  a  critical  time,  to  the  worth  of 
the  national  establishment,  prompted  the  delivery  of 
his  lectures  on  the  Church  of  Scotland,  in  Edinburgh, 
in  1872.  The  lectures  are  not  without  faults;  but 
no  more  impartial  and  comprehensive  sketch  of  Scotch 
Church  history  was  ever  limned ;  and  the  necessity  and 
success  of  his  vindication  of  unpopular  "  Moderatism  " 
was  attested  by  the  noisy  violence  of  the  resentment 
which  greeted  it. 

"  I  hope  to  publish  the  lectures  immediately  " — he 
wrote — "  that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  the  printers  can 
get  through  the  mass  of  illegible  MS.  that  I  have 
sent."  The  sentence  recalls  one  of  liis  characteristics 
— a  most  deplorable  handwriting.  Worse  penman- 
ship— more  scraggy  and  inscrutable — could  not  be 
imagined.  He  used  to  admit,  pathetically,  his  failures 
in  this  department,  although  never  willing  to  acknow- 
ledsfe  blame  if  it  could  be  laid  on  some  one  else.  I 
once  received  a  letter  from  him  a  week  old,  and  that 
had  travelled  far  and  wide  ere  reaching  me  at  69 
Inverness  Terrace,  W.,  to  which  he  had  addressed  it. 


88  DEAN  STANLEY. 

"  Try  Hollo  way  Eoad  "  had  been  added  by  some  in- 
genious official.  I  sent  the  Dean  the  envelope  as  a 
curiosity,  and  he  wrote  back — quite  ignoring  the 
illegibility  of  his  "  Inverness  Terrace  " — "  I  see  that 
my  address  was  right,  as  far  as  it  went ;  '  Holloway 
Eoad '  was  added  by  the  postmasters."  I  remember 
his  telling  us,  at  the  Sons  of  the  Clergy  dinner  in 
Glasgow,  how  the  "  Halo  of  the  Burning  Bush  "  had 
come  back  from  the  printers  transmuted  into  the 
"  Horn  of  the  Burnino-  Beast." 

How  full  and  varied  was  his  fund  of  anecdote, 
narrative,  reminiscence !  One  recalls  the  vivacious 
rapid  utterance — the  eye  now  beaming  with  sympathy, 
now  tw^inkling  with  humour — the  mobile  mouth,  with 
its  patrician  curves — the  delicately  sensitive  and  eager 
face,  that  in  graver  hours  or  in  earnest  talk  grew  so 
solemn — so  impressive,  with  the  dignity  of  lofty 
thought  and  feeling.  Some  men,  in  anecdote  and 
narrative,  always  suggest  quorum  pars  magna  fui, 
and  obtrude  their  own  personality.  The  Dean  knew 
better ;  and  especially  in  relating  incidents  of  his 
unique  experience,  of  which  few,  if  any  except  ]iim- 
self,  had  any  cognizance,  he  showed  a  happy  knack  in 
imparting  what  was  of  interest  without  involving 
names  or  secrets.  His  reticence  was  as  remarkable 
as  his  memory. 

As  one  looks  back  on  him,  the  "  study  of  imagiua- 
tion "  gets  thronged  with  pictures,  that  i)ass  gently 
before  "  the  eye  and  prospect  of  the  soul,"  recalling 
that  slender  hgure,  "  that  good  grey  head,"  that  beau- 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


89 


tiful  countenance,  amidst  the  old  familiar  scenes  that 
shall  know  him  no  more  for  ever — in  the  pulpit  of 


WLSTMINSTEK   ABBEY,    FROM   THE  SOUTH-EAST. 

the  choir,  or  at  the  reading-desk  in  the  nave,  as  in  the 
summer    twilight    he    pronounced,    in    his    tone    of 


90  DEAN  STANLEY. 

trembling  earnestness,  his  benediction  of  that  "peace 
of  God  which  passeth  all  understanding ; "  among  the 
chapels  and  the  monuments,  the  tiny  centre  of  a 
listeninGj  ring  of  visitors — often  of  working-men — to 
whom  he  is  imparting  the  lore  of  the  mighty  Abbey ; 
in  the  Deanery,  in  quiet  talk  in  his  study,  or  in  rich 
and  versatile  colloquy  at  his  table,  in  those  bright 
days  when  the  gracious  presence,  that  he  was  so 
proud  of,  shed  its  charm  on  all ;  at  St.  Andrews,  in 
the  old  library,  on  the  evening  of  his  installation, 
searching  out  each  of  the  students  for  a  word  of  talk, 
and  at  last  resting  by  the  table,  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  saying,  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  and  relief, 
"  Now,  I  think  I  have  spoken  to  every  one ;  " — all 
now  but  a  vision  and  a  memory. 

It  is  good  to  have  known  so  beautiful  a  character. 
In  speaking  of  Thomas  Erskine,  of  Linlathen,  the 
Dean  once  said,  "  There  are  not  a  few  to  whom  that 
attenuated  form  and  farrowed  visage  seemed  a  more 
direct  link  with  the  unseen  world  than  any  other  that 
had  crossed  their  path  in  life."  There  must  be  many 
wlio  feel  how  truly  this  might  be  repeated  of  himself. 
He  was  one  of  the  few  men  whose  transparent  moral 
goodness,  purity,  simplicity,  united  to  intellectual 
strength,  seemed  to  others  to  be  a  guarantee  of  the 
reality  of  that  better  world  of  serener  air,  in  whose 
high  regions  the  pure  forms  dwell,  "  above  the 
smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot  which  men  call 
Earth." 

The  end  of  the  noble  life  came    sooner    than  we 


DEAN  STANLEY.  91 

had  hoped ;  but  the  frame  wanted  vital  force  to 
repel  the  sharp  attack  of  disease,  and  when  Bishop 
Fraser  made  that  pathetic  appeal  to  the  congre- 
gation in  the  Abbey — "Pray  for  him,  good  people, 
while  prayers  may  yet  avail " — he  was  abeady  passing 
gently  under  the  shadow  of  death.  "The  doctors 
had  desired  him  not  to  speak,  and  with  his  usual 
wonderful  patience  he  obeyed  them,"  we  are  told ;  so 
there  w^ere  but  few  last  words.  Among  the  broken  sen- 
tences that  the  watchers  by  his  side  caught  up  were 
these  :  "  As  far  as  I  understood  what  the  duties  of 
my  office  were  supposed  to  be,  in  spite  of  every  in- 
competence, I  am  yet  humbly  trustful  that  I  have 
sustained  before  the  mind  of  the  nation  the  extra- 
ordinary value  of  the  Abbey  as  a  religious,  national, 
and  liberal  institution."  "  The  end  has  come  in  the 
way  I  most  desired  it  should  come.  I  am  perfectly 
satisfied — perfectly  happy — I  have  not  the  slightest 
misgiving."  "I  always  wished  to  die  at  West- 
minster." 

The  friends  beside  him  desired  to  join  in  the  Holy 
Communion  with  him,  ere  he  went,  and  Canon  Farrar 
administered  it.  When  he  was  about  to  give  the 
blessing,  the  Dean  took  hold  of  his  hand,  and  signified 
that  he  should  wait ;  then  slowly,  but  quite  distinctly, 
he  himself  pronounced  the  Benediction.  Before  mid- 
night of  the  same  day — Monday,  July  18 — he  had 
passed  away. 

On  the  following  Monday,  in  the  afternoon,  he  was 
carried  to  his  grave  in  Henry  VII.'s    Chapel.     The 


92  DEAN  STANLEY. 

Queen,  to  whom,  and  to  whose  family,  he  had  long 
been  a  faithful  friend  and  adviser,  had  ordered  that  he 
should  be  laid  in  that  royal  precinct,  beside  his  wife. 
The  only  directions  he  had  himself  given  about  his 
funeral  were,  that  among  his  pall-bearers  should  be  a 
clergyman  of  the  Scottish  Church  and  an  English  Non- 
conformist, and  that  the  Abbey  should  be  open  to  the 
people,  whose  interests  he  had  served  so  well,  and 
whom  he  had  taught  to  reverence  that  venerable 
sanctuary,  as  the  symbol  and  the  guardian  of  the 
religion  and  the  greatness  of  the  nation.  Dense 
crowds  surrounded  the  church  and  filled  the  nave — 
numbers  of  them,  evidently,  poor  and  humble  people 
who  came  there  to  mourn  a  true  friend.  In  the  choir 
and  the  chapel  were  other's,  to  many  of  whom  his 
sympathy  and  brotherhood  had  been  a  staff  in  their 
pilgrimage ;  some  whose  highest  aspirations  and  en- 
deavours after  human  good  had  found  their  sanction 
in  his  approval ;  some  to  whom,  in  days  of  trouble 
and  unfriendly  solitude,  tlie  Deanery  had  been  a  home 
— the  sacred  point  of  their  horizon  ;  others  who,  amid 
doubts  and  unrest,  had  found  in  his  life  and  words 
a  stimulating  example  and  a  "  ministry  of  reconcilia- 
tion.'"' 

Princes,  nobles,  statesmen,  prelates,  ambassadors, 
men  of  letters,  of  science,  of  art — men  of  many  phases 
of  opinion  and  belief,  of  many  ranks  and  classes — united 
in  one  reverence  and  sorrow,  followed  his  bier.  The 
coffin  was  lowered  into  the  same  grave  as  his  wife's, 
and  the  flowers  that  covered  it  almost  hid  the  plain 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


93 


inscription :  "  The  Very  Eeverend  Arthur  Penrhyn 
Stanley,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Westminster ;  second  son  of 
the  Right  Eev.  Edward  Stanley,  Bishop  of  Norwich. 
Born  Dec.  13,  18  15  ;  died  July  18,  1881." 

Those  who  have  known  him  can  never  forget  the 
"man  greatly  beloved."  His  guardian  spirit  will 
always  seem  to  haunt  those  aisles  and  cloisters ;  his 
voice  to  echo  among  those  arches.  The  place  he  filled 
will  remain  a  blank,  whose  void  can  never  be  supplied. 
The  high  ideal  of  a  free  and  noble  and  pious  life  will 
always  be  linked  in  tender  affection  with  his  memory. 
In  no  one  else  can  we  hope  again  to  see,  as  in  him, 
the  consummate  flower  of  the  Christian  culture  of  this 


age. 


E.  H.  Stoky. 


OLD   TOM   AT  OXFORD. 


FREDERICK    DENISON    MAURICE. 


"The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 
No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave. 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 
The  likest  God  within  the  soul?" 

In  Memoriam. 


FREDERICK    DENISON    MAURICE, 


N  the  year  1810,  Mrs.  Michael  Maurice,  the 
wife  of  the  Unitarian  minister  at  Norman- 
stone,  near  Lowestoft,  was  sitting  with  a 
friend  who  had  casually  called  on  her,  when 
through  the  open  door  of  the  room  there 
entered  a  little  boy  of  fiv.e  years  of  age.  He 
betra^^ed  no  shyness,  such  as  children  often  do,  at  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  but  neither  was  there  a  toucli 
of  forwardness.  It  was  a  natural  thing  for  him  to  go 
where  his  mother  was  ;  and  the  sweetness  of  temper 
suggested  by  his  bright  and  artless  face  showed  neither 
fear  of  intrusion  nor  desire  of  obtrusion.  He  carried 
in  one  hand  a  flower  brought  in  from  the  garden,  and 
in  the  otlier  a  biscuit  just  given  him  as  he  j)assed 
through  the  kitchen.  The  lady  visitor  was  of  a  some- 
what quizzical  turn ;  and  seeing   the   child  approach 

G 


9S  FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE. 

the  open  door  witli  a  treasure  in  either  hand,  she 
whispered  to  his  mother,  ''  Children  always  give  up 
what  they  least  care  for :  now  we  shall  see  which  he 
likes  best."  Then  she  said  aloud,  "  Frederick  1  which 
will  you  .aive  me,  the  flower  or  the  biscuit  ? "  But 
without  an  instant's  hesitation,  he  eagerly  held  out 
both  hands,  saying,  "  Choose  whichever  you  like." 

This  was  Frederick  Denison  Maurice,  the  future 
teacher  of  religion  and  morality.  The  incident  was 
characteristic.  It  showed  the  child  as  "  father  of  the 
man."  For  the  man  who  grew  out  of  this  child  was 
far  more  distinguished  by  goodness  than  by  genius. 
He  had  an  eager  mind  as  well  as  a  loving  heart ;  but 
the  activity  of  his  intellect  was  always  directed  much 
more  by  his  affections  than  by  cold  judgment.  He 
made  few,  if  any,  distinct  additions  to  the  range  of 
human  thought  or  knowledge;  and  the  phrases  he 
occasionally  imposed  upon  himself  and  mankind  as 
substitutes  for  thought  were  only  a  passing  fashion. 
But  the  temper  with  which  he  inspired  theological 
study  and  controversy  is  a  permanent  blessing  to  the 
universal  church.  His  insistance  on  the  sacredness  of 
national  life,  and  on  the  need  for  its  inspiration  by 
religion,  was  a  much  needed  protest  against  the  too 
secular  temper  of  modern  politics.  His  noble  service 
to  the  working-classes  must  always  be  remembered 
with  gratitude.  But  he  did  not  pretend  to  have 
solved  any  perplexing  questions,  either  of  trade,  or 
wages,  or  the  relations  of  capital  and  labour.  "What 
he  did  was  to  brinsr  hio-h  ideals  of  life  within  the  reach 


FREDERICK     D  E  N  I S  O  N     MAURICE. 
From  a  Photograph  by  Messrs,  Elhoit  &^  Fry. 


FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE.  lol 

of  the  humblest,  and  to  organize  means  of  popular 
culture  in  the  shape  of  workmen's  colleges.  He  was 
a  conspicuous  illustration  of  Neander's  words  :  "  Pectus 
est  quod  facit  theologum,"  "  It  is  the  heart  that 
makes  the  theologian."  All  his  interpretations  of 
creeds,  all  his  expositions  of  doctrine,  all  his  readings 
of  church  history,  were  dictated,  not  by  his  intellect, 
but  by  his  profound  sympathy  with  the  patriarchal 
appeal,  "  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do 
rioht  ? " 

This  predominant  moral  impulse  of  life  is  capable  of 
taking  many  forms.  It  may  make  a  man  dogmatic, 
as  in  the  case  of  Calvin,  or  domineering  like  Cromwell, 
or  scornful  like  Carlyle.  But  in  the  case  of  ]\Iaurice 
this  moral  impulse  took  the  form  of  a  meek  subordina- 
tion of  self  to  a  divine  right  and  divine  truth  greater 
than  he  could  define.  Through  very  reverence  he  was 
smitten  with  stammering  in  thought,  even  when  his 
speech  was  most  flowing  and  fervent.  His  humility 
made  him  grateful  for  ancient  creeds  and  authoritative 
formulas  of  the  Church,  because  such  documents  put 
into  words  what  he  would  not  have  dared  to  define. 
But  his  unspeakable  ideals  of  goodness  and  truth 
led  him  to  force  into  these  documents  many  strange 
and  even  startling  interpretations,  such  as  they  had 
never  been  supposed  capable  of  bearing.  Yet  in  doing 
this  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  a  devout  desire 
to  subordinate  his  own  understanding  to  the  transcen- 
dent majesty  of  the  divine  will  and  the  di-^dne  law. 
In  particular  he  was  most  anxious  not  to  judge  others 


102  FREDERICK:  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE, 

or  to  judge  for  them.  When  in  the  fulness  of  mature 
life  he  was  almost  embarrassed  by  the  burden  of 
spiritual  treasures  for  the  dispensation  of  which  he 
was  responsible,  he  had  no  notion  of  prescribing  the 
order  or  mode  in  which  they  should  be  received.  Like 
the  child  out  of  whom  he  grew,  he  held  out  full 
hands  to  his  friends  and  said,  "Choose  which  you 
like." 

The  incident  mentioned  above  is  not  the  only  one 
worth  recalling  from  the  story  of  an  interesting  and 
beautiful  childhood.  The  family  life  into  which  he 
was  born  on  August  29,  1805,  was  peculiar,  and  in 
some  respects  uninviting.  His  father  had  entered 
the  Unitarian  ministry  before  its  Presbyterian  tradi- 
tions had  quite  died  out.  His  grandfather  had  been  a 
dissenting  preacher  and  farmer  of  evangelical  opinions, 
but  of  so  broad  a  charity,  that  he  declared  his  hatred 
of  "  toleration,"  on  the  ground  that  when  we  affect  to 
tolerate  opponents  we  assume  an  air  of  superiority  to 
them.  Michael  Maurice,  the  father,  was  educated  at 
Hackney  College  as  an  aspirant  to  the  orthodox 
ministry.  But  at  twenty-six  years  of  age,  in  1792, 
he  became  assistant  to  the  celebrated  Dr.  Priestley, 
who,  after  his  shameful  persecution  by  the  mob  in 
Birmingham,  removed  to  the  old  "  Gravel  Pit  Chapel " 
in  Hackney. 

On  Priestley's  departure  to  America  Michael  Maurice 
went  to  Yarmouth,  where  he  married  Priscilla  Hurry, 
the  daughter  of  a  merchant  in  that  town,  and  after- 
wards,  in    1801,  settled  at  Normanstone.     Here  he 


FREDERICK:  DENISON  MA  VRICE.  103 

aclclsd  considerably  to  his  income  by  taking  pupils. 
There  were  three  daughters  born  before  Frederick. 
Two  of  them,  the  first  and  third,  must  have  been  very 
remarkable  children ;  for  they  first  converted  their 
governess  from  orthodoxy  to  Unitarianism,  and  then, 
on  changing  their  own  opinions,  they  re-converted  her 
from  Unitarianism  to  Calvinism.  At  the  same  time 
the  mother  was  passing  through  phases  of  faith  which 
culminated  in  a  painful  resolve  not  to  listen  any  more 
to  the  preaching  of  the  man  she  most  dearly  loved. 
The  decision  did  not  stop  here  ;  for  the  dogmatic  sisters 
differed  among  themselves,  the  eldest  girl  joining  the 
Established  Church,  while  the  two  younger  joined  the 
Baptist  denomination,  and  for  a  while  attended  the 
ministry  of  Jolin  Foster. 

Thus  during  Frederick's  boyhood  he  had  much 
opportmiity  for  studying  the  significance  of  a  "  house 
divided  against  itself."  And  yet  it  was  only  theo- 
logically divided,  not  in  affection  or  moral  sympathy. 
The  father  indeed  at  one  time  made  a  greater  trouble 
of  these  differences  than  might  have  been  expected 
from  his  own  easy  indifference  to  creeds.  But 
he  appears  to  have  got  over  it ;  and  though  the 
son  has  himself  written  ■  that,  "  those  years  were  to 
him  years  of  moral  confusion  and  contradiction,"  the 
loyal  attachment  he  always  showed  to  his  home  could 
only  have  been  nourished  in  an  atmosphere  of  domestic 
affection. 

Meanwhile  Michael  Maurice  had  removed  his  family 
in    18 13  to  Frenchay,  near  Bristol.      Here  the  boy's 


io  I  FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  M  MA  URICE. 

education  was  begun  by  his  sisters'  governess  and  pro- 
selyte, and  carried  on  by  his  father.  He  is  described 
by  a  surviving  cousin  as  at  that  time  "  a  bright  iutelh- 
gent  boy,  at  times  grave,  and  often  sitting  on  a  shelf  in 
the  book-closet,  taking  down  first  one  book  and  then 
another."  But  the  buds  of  character  put  out  in  that 
early  spring-time  were  far  more  those  of  moral  beauty 
than  of  mental  brilliance.  The  singleness  of  eye 
described  in  the  Gospel  was  so  manifest  in  him  that 
his  father  met  all  little  complaints  about  him  with 
the  words,  "  I  am  sure  Frederick  has  the  best  inten- 
tions." A  nurse,  commonly  called  Betsy,  once  offered 
him  a  plum  from  a  tree  in  the  garden,  but  she  never 
forgot  the  consequences.  Wide-eyed  and  erect  he 
looked  at  her,  half  in  amazement,  half  in  i^ity,  and, 
solemnly  addressing  her  by  her  Christian  and  surname 
at  full  length,  "  Elizabeth  ISTorgrove  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
"  I  did  think  you  would  have  known  better  than  to 
do  that,  and  would  have  remembered  that  mamma 
wishes  us  never  to  have  fruit  except  she  gives  it  us 
herself." 

This  incident  by  itself  would  perhaps  have  an 
unpleasant  suggestiveness  of  childish  sanctimony. 
But  the  impression  is  corrected  by  other  incidents 
redolent  of  boyish  playfulness  and  courage.  His 
cousiu.  Dr.  Goodeve,  of  Clifton,  used  to  recall  with 
pleasure  a  raid  across  fields  made  by  himself  in  com- 
pany with  Frederick  Maurice  and  another  companion, 
when  they  were  all  under  fifteen  years  old.  Presently 
they   were  confronted  by  an  angry  bull,  from  which 


FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE.  105 

they  found  a  precarious  refuge  on  an  enbankment  in 
the  middle  of  a  large  meadow.  "  There  we  were  safe 
enough,  hut  completely  besieged;  the  savage  beast 
continuing  to  pace  round  us,  apparently  ready  to  rush 
upon  any  one  who  came  within  his  reach.  Time 
wore  on ;  and  night  approaching,  we  began  to  feel  that 
Frederick's  mother  would  grow  uneasy  at  our  absence 
— a  matter  about  which  he  was  always  exceedingly 
sensitive.  It  was  resolved  therefore  that  one  of  us 
should  make  an  attempt  to  procure  assistance,  whilst 
the  others  endeavoured  to  divert  the  bull's  attention. 
Drawing  lots  was  talked  of,  but  Frederick  insisted  on 
his  right  as  the  oldest  to  lead  the  forlorn  hope.  The 
scheme  was  successful ;  but  the  quiet  undaunted  way 
in  which  he  retired,  facing  the  bull  (who  followed 
him  all  the  while),  and  slowly  bowing  to  it  with  his 
hat  at  intervals — according  to  a  theory  he  had  on 
the  subject — till  he  could  make  a  final  rush  for  the 
gate,  was  worthy  of  all  admiration."* 

The  idea  of  touching  the  heart  of  a  bull  by  bows 
of  solemn  courtesy  suggests  a  boy  of  quaint  and  old- 
fashioned  character.  And  this  suggestion  is  amply 
borne  out  by  a  very  extraordinary  letter  written  at 
the  still  earlier  aG;e  of  ten,  and  addressed  to  his  eldest 
sister.  If  we  call  the  letter  extraordinary,  it  is  not 
because  of  any  precocious  talent  it  shows ;  for  it  dis- 
plays nothing  of  the  kind,  unless  some  signs  of  keen 
attention    and  retentive  memory.     But  it  is  so  long 

*  "'  Life  of  Frederick  Denison  Maurice,"  edited  by  his  son, 
vol.  i.  p.  40. 


1 06  FREDERICK  DENISON  MA  URICE. 

that  few  boys  of  ten  would  have  the  perseverance  to 
stick  to  it  through  the  repeated  sittings  it  required. 
The  subject  also,  a  kind  of  ])recis  of  the  proceedings 
at  a  Bristol  meetinsj  of  the  British  and  Forei<]fn  School 
Society,  is  one  on  which  not  many  boys  would  care 
to  expend  much  labour,  while  the  style  is  that  of  a 
newspaper  reporting  hack  at  the  age  of  sixty. 

"  At  first  Mr.  Protheroe  took  the  chair  and  opened 
the  meeting  with  a  very  appropriate  speech,  stating  the 
reasons  why  the  meeting  was  called,  his  own  opinion 
in  considering  both  institutions*  as  connected  with 
the  same  important  end,  the  temporal  and  eternal 
welfare  of  all."  It  is  interestiusj  to  note  that  Eobert 
Hall  addressed  the  meeting,  but  his  weak  voice  failed 
to  reach  the  young  reporter,  for  all  said  about  the 
speech  is  that,  "  though  good  judges  say  it  was  one  of 
the  best  they  ever  heard,  we  could  not  hear ;  I  will  not 
therefore  pretend  to  delineate  it."  The  more  Boanergean 
oratory  of  the  Eev.  William  Thorpe  left  a  sentence 
vibrating  in  the  memory  of  the  boy,  who  retails  with 
evident  pleasure  a  rhetorical  platitude  about  "  that 
cause  for  which  a  Hampden  and  a  Ptussell  bled,  that 
which  inspires  the  breast  of  a  true-born  Englishman, 
and  without  which  man  is  placed  on  a  level  with  the 
beasts  of  the  field."! 

It  is  clear  from  wliat  has  already  been  said,  that 
the  influences  under  which  Maurice's  earlier  years  were 
passed  were  not  favourable  to  the  Established  Church, 

*  J.e.,  the  Lancasteriau  and  National  Societies. 
t  "  Life,"  vol.  i.  pp.  35-37- 


FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE,  107 

nor  indeed  to  any  cheerful  views  of  religion.  His 
mother,  after  adopting  strict  Calvinistic  views,  believed 
herself  predestined  to  everlasting  misery,  but  patheti- 
cally hoped  that  her  son  might  be  one  of  the  elect. 
He,  however,  was  oppressed  by  the  same  cloud  of 
superstition.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  he 
speaks  of  himself  as  "  a  being  destined  to  a  few  short 
years  of  misery  here,  as  an  earnest  of  and  preparation 
for  a  more  enduring  state  of  wretchedness  and  woe." 

But  about  tliis  time  he  found  access  to  a  laroer  circle 
than  that  of  his  earliest  days.  As  he  seemed  excluded 
from  a  clerical  career  he  beG;an  to  think  of  the  law : 
and  the  new  friends  to  whom  he  was  introduced  for 
the  furtherance  of  this  purpose  opened  up  to  him  a 
world  of  religious  thought,  the  very  existence  of  which 
seems  to  have  been  unknown  to  him  before.  "  Where 
is  your  authority,"  asks  a  lady  correspondent  of  this 
date,  "  for  regarding  any  individual  of  the  human 
race  as  clcstiiiecl  to  misery  either  here  or  hei-eafter  ? " 
It  is  very  strange,  but  it  appears  to  be  true,  that  he 
now,  for  the  first  time,  becjan  to  realize  what  a  ^ross 
contradiction  there  was  betw^een  his  mother's  oloomv 
superstition  and  the  belief  that  "  God  is  Love."  But 
when  once  he  fastened  on  this  and  tlie  divine  rigjht- 
eousness  as  the  base  line  for  all  farther  thouglit,  the 
course  of  his  religious  development  was  decided.  All 
the  rest  was  natural  growth,  though  affected  of  course 
to  a  certain  extent  by  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 
his  childhood  and  youth. 

The  wider  world,  opened  to  him  by  the  new  friend- 


lo8  FREDERICK  DENISON  MA  URICE. 

sliips  of  this  period,  led  him  to  desire  to  find  his  way 
to  the  bar  through  one  of  the  great  Universities.  No 
difficulty  was  interposed,  and  at  the  end  of  1823  he 
entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  He  afterwards 
migrated  to  Trinity  Hall,  as  the  latter  was  considered 
to  offer  the  more  appropriate  avenue  to  the  bar.  But 
he  never  gained  any  great  University  distinction, 
though  he  made  a  deep  impression  on  friends  such 
as  John  Sterling,  and  on  tutors  such  as  Mr.  Ebden,  of 
Trinity  Hall,  and  Julius  Hare. 

At  the  end  of  1826  he  left  Cambridge,  intending 
to  pursue  his  legal  studies  in  London.  He  left 
without  a  degree ;  and  the  reason  why  he  did  so  was 
tliat  though  he  much  preferred  the  Anglican  Church 
to  any  of  the  various  sects  whose  conflicting  claims 
distracted  his  early  years,  yet  he  did  not  see  his 
way  to  adopt  entirely  the  formularies  of  that  Church. 
But  at  this  period  the  Universities  had  not  been 
thrown  open,  and  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  sign 
the  articles  in  order  to  obtain  a  degree  either  in 
mathematics  or  in  law. 

ISTo  passage  in  Maurice's  life  illustrates  better  than 
the  records  of  this  year  the  anxious  conscientiousness 
with  v/hich  he  regarded  all  professions  of  religious  belief. 
As  his  desire  to  join  the  Anglican  communion  grevv^ 
stronger,  he  wrote  from  London  to  Mr.  Ebden  "  to 
ascertain  what  degree  of  consent  and  adherence  to  the 
doctrines  and  formularies  of  the  Church  he  would  have 
to  profess  in  order  to  admission  to  the  degree"* — i.e., 

*  From  a  letter  of  Mr.  Ebden  quoted  in  the  "  Life,"  &c., 
vol.  i.  p.  72. 


FREDERICK  DEN  I  SON  MA  URICE.  109 

of  LL.P).  The  explanation  sent  in  reply  did  not  remove 
his  difficulties.  His  name  was  still  on  the  Looks  of 
Trinity  Hall,  and  its  retention  for  a  time  might  prove 
of  considerable  advantage,  as  lie  was  considered  a  very 
likely  candidate  for  a  Fellowship.  But  when  he  received 
Mr.  Ebden's  answer  as  to  the  meaning  of  subscription, 
he  wrote  at  once  to  have  his  name  taken  off  the  books, 
on  the  ground  that  there  was  no  probability  of  his  being 
able,  conscientiously,  to  fulfil  the  required  conditions. 

But  Mr.  Ebden  felt  it  a  duty  to  expostulate.  "  I  sug- 
gested," he  says,  "  that  as  he  was  still  eighteen  months 
under  the  five  years'  standing  necessary  to  the  degree, 
it  might  be  well  for  him  to  pause  in  his  determination ; 
that  further  search  and  thought  might  lead  him  to 
different  conclusions ;  and  that  without  any  mean  or 
sordid  motive,  he  might  well  hesitate  before  renouncing 
the  advantages  of  a  complete  University  course.  His 
answer  was  prompt,  and  in  that  high,  pure,  and  noble 
spirit  which  ruled  his  whole  life,  whatever  might  be 
tlie  intellectual  phases  of  his  mind.  He  directed 
tliat  the  step  of  cancelling  his  name  on  the  College 
books  should  be  taken  instantly;  for  whatever  his 
opinions  might  eventually  be,  he  would  not  hazard 
their  being  intluenced  by  any  considerations  of  worldly 
interest." 

This  correspondence  is  most  important  for  a  just 
estimate  of  Maurice's  character,  and  of  the  nature  of  his 
ultimate  attachment  to  the  Anglican  Church.  Church- 
men indeed  for  the  most  part  need  no  such  evidence. 
Believing  as  they  do  that  their  position  is  the  true  one, 


1 10  FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE. 

tliey  cannot  wonder  that  a  young  man  brought  up  on 
a  mixture  of  Unitarianism,  Calvinism,  and  Methodism 
should  have  been  attracted  by  the  truth  just  in  pro- 
portion to  his  candour  and  sincerity.  But  outsiders 
who  are  equally  convinced  that  their  position  is  the 
true  one,  have  sometimes  had  a  difficulty  in  believing 
that  Maurice  was  drawn  over  solely  by  conviction 
from  the  Eationalism  of  his  father  to  a  hearty  accep- 
tance of  the  Prayer  Book,  Articles,  and  Athanasian 
Creed.  They  have  even  suspected  that  a  youth  who 
between  seventeen  and  twenty  was  made  suddenly  to 
realize  the  enormous  social  disadvantages  he  was  suf- 
fering through  the  nonconformity  of  his  parents,  might 
naturally  have  a  wish  to  be  convinced  of  the  apostolic 
authority  of  a  Church  which  threw  open  to  him  a 
wider  and  brighter  world.  But  this  correspondence 
shows  that  the  young  man  was  keenly  alive  to  the 
danger  of  such  a  temptation,  and  manfully  on  his 
guard  against  it.  The  truth  would  seem  to  be  that 
his  reception  into  the  Church  was  delayed  rather  than 
facilitated  by  the  obvious  advantages  it  offered. 

Notwithstanding  this  caution  and  watchfulness  over 
his  own  motives,  Maurice's  scruples  were  entirely 
removed  within  two  years  from  the  date  of  his  cor- 
respondence with  Mr.  Ebden,  and  he  began  to  turn 
his  thoughts  distinctly  towards  a  clerical  career.  The 
interval  was  but  little  occupied  by  legal  studies.  He 
wrote  for  the  Westminster  Eeview.  He  edited  the 
London  Literary  Chronicle,  and  afterwards  the 
Athenceum.     He  also  wrote  a  novel,  "  Eustace  Conway," 


FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE.  1 1 1 

which  attracted  some  attention.  But,  on  the  whole,  it 
was  apparent  that  his  gifts  did  not  ht  him  for  a 
purely  literary  career.  Perhaps  he  made  a  little  more 
way  as  a  writer  than  as  a  student  of  law ;  but  this  is 
not  saying  very  much.  The  truth  is,  his  powers  were 
moral  and  spiritual  rather  than  intellectual ;  and  lie  had 
not  discovered  his  true  vocation. 

During  this  brief  period  of  literary  journeymanship 
he  went  little  into  society,  but  his  company  and  con- 
versation were  eagerly  desired  by  a  few  choice  friends, 
such  as  the  Sterlings,  father  and  son,  John  Stuart  Mill, 
Mr.  Eoebuck,  James  Silk  Buckingham,  and  others  of 
similar  mental  enterprise.  He  joined  a  debating 
society  frequented  by  some  of  these  friends,  and  the 
first  speech  of  his  to  which  we  have  any  reference  was 
made  at  one  of  the  meetinc^s.  His  mention  of  it  in 
a  letter  to  his  mother  is  curious,  as  anticipating  one  of 
the  great  troubles  of  his  life — the  accusation  of  un- 
intelligibility.  "  The  subject,"  he  whites,  '•'  was  one  on 
which  I  have  thought  a  great  deal :  the  disadvantages 
of  competition  between  the  two  new  Universities ;  * 
but  I  did  not  succeed  in  making  myself  intelligible, 
and  was  accused  of  being  very  metaphysical,  which 
was  far  from  being  the  case."  The  metaphysical 
tendency  here  repudiated  w^as  greatly  stimulated  by 
his  devotion  to  Coleridoe.  Indeed,  thou  oh  Maurice 
himself  emphatically  disclaimed  the  title  of  "  Broad 
Churchman,"  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the 

*  I.e.,  London  University  and  King's  College ;  the  latter  of 
"which,  however,  did  not  become  a  "University." 


1 1 2  FREDERICK  DENTS  ON  MA  URICE, 

pliilosopliy  of  Coleridge  distilled  througli  the  mind  of 
the  former  that  chiefly  inspired  what  is  called  the 
"  Broad  Chnrch  "  school  of  religious  thought. 

About  this  time  his  father  lost  a  good  deal  of 
money,  and  this  circumstance  threatened  to  interfere 
with  the  son's  ultimate  aspirations.  As  a  matter 
of  course,  young  Maurice  was  anxious,  not  merely 
to  spare  his  father  any  unnecessary  expense,  but  also 
to  obtain  some  immediately  lucrative  employment, 
such  as  miglit  enable  him,  in  case  of  necessity,  to 
assist  his  parents.  The  latter  had  removed  to 
Southampton,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  which  town 
they  remained  for  the  rest  of  their  days.  Fortunately 
the  n3ed  did  not  become  as  acute  as  was  at  first 
apprehended  ;  and  partly  by  his  own  exertions,  partly 
by  favourable  arrangements  secured  through  Dr.  Jacob- 
son  and  others,  he  was  able  to  fulfil  the  project  he  was 
now  forming. 

He  desired  to  renew  his  University  career,  with 
the  purpose  of  fitting  himself  to  become  a  clergyman. 
He  was  urged  to  return  to  Cambridge,  and  to  become 
at  once  a  graduate ;  but  he  preferred  to  become  an 
undergraduate  at  Oxford.  Accordingly,  he  went  to 
Exeter  College,  and  thus  obtained  the  advantage  of 
a  double  University  education.  At  Oxford  he  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  some  distinguished  men,  inclu- 
dinf*-  iVrthur  Hallam  and  Mr.  Gladstone.  What  is 
called  the  Oxford  Movement  was  then  commencing ; 
but  it  does  not  seem  to  have  had  much  effect  upon 
Frederick  Maurice.     The  only  aspect  of  it  witli  which 


FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE.  1 1 3 

he  was  likely  much  to  sympathize  was  its  earnest 
devoutness.  Its  insistance  on  external  forms  could 
hardly  have  much  attraction  for  a  man  whose  one  aim 
in  life  was  to  lay  hold  of  some  innermost  mystical 
reality  which  always  eluded,  if  not  his  grasp,  at  any 
rate  his  power  of  exposition. 

In  1 8  3 1  he  resolved  to  be  baptized  as  a  member 
of  the  Church  of  England.  This  is  somewhat  strange, 
if,  as  we  presume,  he  had  been  in  infancy  baptized  by 
his  father.  For  Michael  Maurice,  we  are  informed, 
had  never  abandoned  the  ortliodox  formula  of  baptism  : 
''  in  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost."  Of  course  the  father  was,  in  the  view 
of  ecclesiastical  authority,  merely  a  layman;  but  we 
have  always  understood  that  lay-baptism,  if  adminis- 
tered in  due  form,  is  recognized  by  ecclesiastical 
authority  as  sufficient  in  case  of  necessity.  But,  be 
that  as  it  may,  Frederick  was  baptized  again,  and 
thereby  signified  his  anxious  desire  to  be  lacking  in 
no  condition  of  communion  with  the  Church. 

Soon  afterwards  he  took  his  degree  with  a  second 
class,  and  proposed  to  continue  at  Oxford  for  a  time 
as  a  private  tutor.  But  in  1832  he  received  an 
invitation  from  Mr.  Stephenson,  of  Lympsham,  to  go 
and  reside  with  him,  in  order  to  see  something  of 
practical  parochial  work,  while  he  prepared  for  orders. 
Of  this  suggestion  he  took  advantage,  and  not  long 
afterwards  received  an  offer  of  a  curacy  at  Bubbenhall 
which  gave  him  a  title  to  orders. 

He  was  ordained  January  26,  1834,  and  his  answers 

H 


1 14  FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE. 

in  the  previous  examination  were  very  characteristic. 
For  instance,  in  response  to  a  question  requiring  him  to 
specify  "  some  of  those  erroneous  and  strange  doctrines 
which  on  his  admission  to  the  priesthood  he  promised 
to  banish  and  put  away,"  he  mentioned  amongst  others 
the  followincj :  "  The  doctrine  that  men  are  more 
anxious  to  attain  the  knowledge  of  God  than  He  is 
anxious  to  briuo-  tliem  to  that  knowledge  :  "  "The  doc- 
trine  tliat  it  is  possiljle  for  the  perfect  God  to  behold 
any  one  except  in  the  perfect  man  Christ  Jesus ;  or, 
that  it  is  possible  for  man  to  behold  God  except  as 
revealed  and  manifested  in  Him."  It  is  clear  from 
the  latter  answer  that  the  young  candidate  for  orders 
had  already  definitely  formed  within  his  own  mind  the 
doctrine  that  all  men  are  rooted  and  grounded  in  the 
eternal  Son. 

Soon  after  takinGj  orders  he  entered  for  the  first  time 
into  the  arena  of  theological  controversy,  with  his  well- 
known  pamphlet  entitled  "  Subscription  no  Bondage." 
The  views  he  enunciated  showed  that  love  of  spiritual 
paradox  which  characterized  him  all  through  his  life. 
He  argued  that  so  far  from  subscription  being  a  limita- 
tion to  freedom  of  thought  it  was  the  only  condition 
on  which  real  freedom  could  be  enjoyed.  Some 
critics  have  regarded  this  as  an  instance  of  sheer 
perversity.  Eut  it  was  not  so.  He  thought  he  had 
observed  in  his  early  experience  that  teachers  and 
preachers,  who  are  professedly  unbound  by  any  creeds 
or  articles,  are  inclined  to  be  much  more  rigid  in 
insisting   on   their   own   standard   of    orthodoxy  than 

I 


FREDERICK  DEN  ISO  N  MA  URICE.  1 1 5 

lire  the  defenders  of  an  authoritative  creed.  This  is 
probably  the  case;  but  Maurice  himself  afterwards 
came  to  feel  that  it  affords  no  sufficient  justification 
for  the  imposition  of  creeds  on  students  entering  at  a 
university. 

Another  instance  of  his  fondness  for  spiritual 
paradox  is  seen  in  his  treatment  of  the  feelings 
proper  to  the  reception  of  orders.  To  an  inquir- 
ing friend,  he  wrote  that  so  far  from  regarding  a 
painful  sense  of  utter  heartlessness  and  lovelessness 
as  a  discouragement,  he  came  to  feel  this  particular 
trial  as  "  a  more  sure  witness  to  him  of  an  inward 
call  ....  than  the  most  pleasant  feeling,  the  most 
affecting  sense  of  Christ's  love  could  have  been." 
His  explanation  is  tliat  Ciod  does  not  depend  upon 
our  feelings,  that  He  is  distinct  from  all  the  emotions, 
energies,  affections,  sympathies  in  our  minds,  the 
only  source  and  inspirer  of  them  all.  A  grasp  of 
this  truth  was  in  tlie  view  of  the  writer  the  peculiar 
necessity  of  this  age.  The  experience  of  personal 
defect  in  feeling  might  stimulate  a  grasp  of  this  truth, 
and  hence  his  justification  of  the  paradox.  But  after 
all  is  said  the  reader  can  hardly  help  feeling  that 
the  truth  might  well  have  been  put  in  a  less  para- 
doxical shape. 

We  have  now  traced  the  somewhat  devious  and 
certainly  unusual  course  of  outward  infiuence  and 
inward  reflection  by  which  the  child  of  a  Unitarian 
father  and  Calvinistic  mother  w^as  formed  into  a 
devout  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church.    It  is  not 


<?M%i 


1 16  FREDERICK  DENISON  MA  URICE. 

our  purpose  to  sketch  with  any  detail  his  after  career. 
On  leaving  Bubbenhall,  he  was  appointed  chaplain  to 
Guy's  Hospital.  Here  he  added  to  the  usual  duties 
of  a  chaplain  two  lectures  a  week  on  Moral  Philosophy. 
The  earnestness  of  his  character  soon  made  itself  felt, 
and  the  advocates  of  a  Church manship  equally  removed 
from  Eomanism  on  the  one  hand  and  Methodism  on 
the  other  began  to  see  in  him  a  future  champion  of 
their  views. 

In  1837  he  married  Anna  Barton,  a  younger 
sister  of  John  Sterling's  wife.  Having  alienated 
Dr.  Pusey  by  his  views  on  baptism  promulgated 
in  a  series  of  letters  to  a  Quaker,  which  were 
afterwards  collected  under  the  title  "  The  Kingdom 
of  Christ,"  he  had  the  pain  of  finding  that  his  ideas 
were  just  as  little  acceptable  to  the  "Low  Church", 
party.  His  wife  encouraged  him  in  an  independent 
course.  He  could  not  allow  that  baptism  wrought  a 
magical  change ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  insisted 
that  it  was  the  recognition  of  a  divine  sonship  to 
which  every  child  is  born  by  reason  of  the  headship 
of  Christ.  "  If  you  only  act  on  your  conviction,"  said 
his  wife,  "  that  Christ  is  in  every  one,  what  a  mucli 
higher  life  you  may  live ;  how  much  better  worlc  you 
may  do  !  "  It  was  this  conviction  that  animated  him 
always.  After  six  years  of  such  noble  companionship 
as  these  words  suggest,  he  had  the  sorrow  to  lose  this 
brave  wife.  His  second  wife,  who  survived  liim,  was 
Miss  Hare,  half-sister  of  the  Rev.  Julius  Hare. 

In    1839,   the  discontent  of  the  millions  left  un- 


FREDERICK  DEN  I  SON  MA  URICE.  1 1 7 

enfranchised  by  the  great  Reform  Act  began  to  assume 
an  almost  threatening  form.  In  the  same  year  the 
system  of  Government  inspection  began  to  be  applied 
to  public  elementary  schools.  Maurice  perceived 
clearly  the  connection  between  popular  discontent  and 
popular  ignorance,  and  began  to  give  eager  attention 
both  to  the  schemes  of  Chartists  and  to  the  con- 
troversy that  soon  grew  up  on  the  question  of  national 
education.  On  the  latter  subject  he  delivered  a  course 
of  lectures  that  attracted  a  good  deal  of  notice,  and 
the  position  he  assumed  was  characteristic.  While 
some  contended  that  the  education  of  the  people 
should  be  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  clergy,  and 
others  maintained  that  it  should  be  wholly  unsectarian, 
he  pronounced  in  effect  that  both  sides  were  wrong 
and  both  were  right.  The  Church  should  undoubtedly 
educate  the  people ;  but  the  Church  should  prove 
itself  to  be  unsectarian  by  the  comprehensiveness  of 
its  teaching,  and  by  its  scrupulous  tolerance  of  Non- 
conformist objections  to  the  Catechism  and  Prayer 
Book.  As  to  Chartists  and  Socialists,  his  idea  was 
that  the  clergy  should  meet  them  as  brethren,  and 
should  satisfy  them  that  whatever  was  true  and 
valuable  in  their  views  was  a  part  of  the  gospel  of 
Christ. 

In  1840  he  was  appointed  Professor  of  English 
Literature  and  Modern  History  in  King's  College, 
London,  where  Dr.  Jelf  was  Principal.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  a  long  series  of  difficulties,  occasioned  by 
his  courageous  persistence  in  the  enforcement  of  broad 


1 1 8  FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE, 

and  tolerant  views.  True,  he  never  allowed  himself 
to  be  nick-named  as  a  "  Broad  Churchman  ; "  and,  so 
far  as  the  title  implies  rationalism,  it  certainly  was  not 
applicable  to  him ;  for  a  more  scrupulously  orthodox 
clergyman  never  lived.  If  his  opinions  on  the  nature 
of  eternal  life  somewhat  startled  ecclesiastical  autho- 
rities, he  maintained  with  great  show  of  reason  that 
he  was  more  punctilious  than  they  were  in  bowing  to 
Scripture  and  antiquity.  Still,  his  main  principle  of 
Christ's  living  lieadship  over  all  humanity  compelled 
him  to  regard  all  human  affairs  as  the  proper  subjects 
of  relisjious  influence.  Thus  some  of  his  clerical  critics 
thought  that  he  mixed  up  things  sacred  and  secular  too 
freely,  and  he  was  especially  subject  to  reproach  for 
daring  to  meet  in  a  sympathetic  manner  with  Socialists 
and  Chartists.  It  was  his  theological  views,  however, 
not  his  political  associations,  which  brought  matters  to 
an  issue  at  KinQ;'s  Collesfe. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  tlie  story.  It  is  sufficient 
to  observe  that  Mr.  Maurice  finally  lost  his  position  in 
the  College  because  he  held  that  a  true  interpretation 
of  the  word  "  eternal  "  did  not  exclude  hope  of  some 
final  redemption  for  the  lost.  He  was  not  what  is 
called  a  "  universalist."  He  was  not  at  all  sure  that 
every  one  would  be  saved  at  last.  Still  less  did  he 
believe  in  the  annihilation  of  the  impenitent.  He 
simply  insisted  that  neither  eternal  life,  nor  eternal 
death,  has  anything  to  do  with  duration  either  finite 
or  infinite.  The  one  means  life  in  God,  the  other 
alienation    from  God.       This,   at  least,    is    the    most 


FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE. 


119 


{)ractical  way  of  stating  his  idea,  thougli  of  course  it 
implies  certain  metaphysical  conceptions  of  eternity 
and  time,  which  it  would  be  out  of  place  to  discuss 
here.     It  seems  almost  incredible  that,  within  the  life- 


F.  D,   MAUl^ICE. 
From  a  Dra-juing  by  S.  Laurence. 

time  of  the  present  generation,  an  earnest  and  devout 
clergyman  should  have  been  condemned  for  venturing 
so  reverently  and  humbly  to  hope  in  God's  mercy.  It 
was  characteristic  of  the  man  that,  modest  and  retiring 
as  he  was  by  nature,  he  refused  to  resign,  because  he 


1 20  FREDERICK  DEN t SON  MA  URICE, 

believed  that  his  duty  to  the  Church  and  to  humanity 
required  him  to  throw  the  responsibility  for  his  ex- 
pulsion upon  the  authorities  of  the  College. 

This  event,  which  happened  toward  the  end  of 
1S53,  was  the  occasion  of  a  striking  demonstration  of 
the  affection  and  gratitude  felt  for  him  by  the  working- 
men  of  London.  During  the  whole  period  of  his 
professorship  at  King's  College  he  had  taken  a  warm 
and  active  interest  in  all  efforts  for  the  peaceful  and 
orderly  defence  of  the  interests  of  labour.  The 
co-operative  movement  had  his  entire  sympathy.  He 
recognized  the  moral  value  of  trades'  unions  as  an 
educational  discipline.  While  strongly  opposed  to  all 
revolutionary  methods,  he  believed  that  the  socialistic 
ideas  of  the  time  had  some  elements  of  truth  which 
were  recognized  in  the  New  Testament,  and  which  the 
Church  should  try  to  work  out.  Stirred,  therefore,  by 
gratitude  for  the  wise  inlluence  he  had  exerted  over 
them,  a  number  of  representative  working-men  pre- 
sented to  him  an  address  on  his  expulsion,  and  set  forth 
in  very  plain  terms  their  amazement  at  the  condemna- 
tion of  a  man  who  had  given  them  better  thoughts  of 
Christianity  than  most  of  them  had  imagined  it  possible 
they  could  entertain.  His  response  was  fresh  devotion 
to  their  service.  In  1854  he  founded  the  college  in 
Great  Ormond  Street,  which  led  to  the  establishment 
of  similar  workmen's  colleges  all  over  the  country. 

Already  in  1848  he  had  taken  a  leading  part  in 
founding  Queen's  College  for  the  higher  education  of 
women.     Its  chief  purpose  was  to  secure  the  better 


FREDERICK  DENIS  ON  MA  URICE.  1 2 1 

training  of  governesses ;  but  its  influence  has  extended 
to  the  whole  domain  of  female  education. 

In  1846  he  became  chaplain  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  and 
in  i860  incumbent  of  St.  Peter's,  Vere  Street.  In 
these  positions  his  highest  work  was  accomplished. 
His  sermons  being  illustrated  by  his  life,  had  a  weight 
and  force  inexplicable  from  their  language  or  ideas. 
He  was  not  lucid ;  he  was  not  logical ;  but  his  hearers 
felt  that  in  him  there  was  struggling  for  utterance  a 
faith  larger  than  any  creed,  and  a  life  deeper  than  any 
opinions.  The  present  writer  remembers  being  over- 
whelmed by  the  ringing  earnestness  with  which  the 
prayers  were  offered  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Chapel.  Well 
was  it  said  of  him,  though  he  scrupulously  confined 
himself  to  the  Prayer  Book,  that  "  he  did  not  read 
prayers — he  prayed." 

What  had  been  his  inspiration  all  his  life  remained 
his  strength  in  his  dying  hours.  In  the  early  months 
of  1872  he  succumbed  to  the  exhaustion  produced  by 
labours  too  great  for  his  strength.  On  Easter  Day 
the  end  was  not  far  off,  and  as  he  listened  to  St. 
Luke's  account  of  the  journey  to  Emmaus,  Mrs. 
Maurice,  thinking  of  her  approaching  loss,  almost 
unconsciously  repeated  the  words  "  vanished  out  of 
their  sight."  "  Yes,"  he  said,  with  characteiistic 
paradox,  " '  vanished  out  of  their  sight,'  which  means 
that  he  abides  with  them  for  ever."  Looking  out  of 
the  window  from  his  bed  upon  the  passengers  in  the 
street,  he  said  :  "  All  those  men  who  are  walking  there, 
with   their   doubts   and    thoughts,   whether    frivolous 


122 


FREDERICK  DEN  I  SON  MAURICE. 


thoughts  or  earnest  doubts,  want  a  friend  to  join 
himself  to  them,  and  bring  them  out ;  not  to  quench 
the  doubts,  as  I  have  too  often  done."  When  the 
power  of  speecli  was  departing,  he  paused  in  the 
middle  of  an  indistinct  utterance,  made  a  great  effort, 
and  slowly,  distinctly  said :  "  The  knowledge  of  the 
love  of  God — the  blessing  of  God  Almighty,  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  amongst  you 
— amongst  us — and  remain  with  us  for  ever."  Those 
were  his  last  words. 


.  Heney  C.  Ewaet. 


UNCULIMS   INN    GATEWAY, 


ARCHBISHOP    TAIT. 


"  Be  not  amazed  at  life  ;  'tis  still 
The  mode  of  God  with  His  elect 
Their  hopes  exactly  to  fulfil 
In  times  and  ways  they  least  expect." 

Coventry  Patmore. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 


]T  noon,  on  Friday,  December  8,  1882,  the 
little  churchyard  of  Addington  in  Surrey, 
was  thronged  with  several  hundred  sym- 
pathizing spectators.  During  tlie  whole  of 
the  previous  day  snow  had  fallen  heavily, 
and  many  had  made  their  pilgrimage  under 
no  small  difficulties  to  tlie  little  Surrey  village,  lying, 
as  it  does,  at  some  distance  from  any  railway  station. 
Patiently  and  sadly  tliey  waited  amidst  the  wintry 
scene,  under  a  leaden  sky,  while,  starting  from  the  park, 
a  long  funeral  train,  including  two  royal  princes  and 
some  faithful  servants,  followed  on  foot  a  simple  bier, 
almost  hidden  under  a  profusion  of  white  flowers, 
tln'ougli  the  gardens  and  down  a  stately  avenue  to  a 
private  gate  in  the  churchyard  wall,  close  to  a  newly- 
opened  grave  lined  with  evergreen  leaves  and  fringed 
with  garlands. 


126 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT, 


It  was  the  burial  of  Aucjustine's  latest  lineal  sue- 
ccssor,  Archibald  Campbell  Tait,  ninety-second  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  who  died  about  three  weeks 
before  his  seventy-first  birthday.  He  was  born  on 
the  shortest  day  of  the  year,  i8i  i,  the  youngest  child 


ADDIXGTON    CHURCH, 


of  Mr.  Craufard  Tait,  of  Harviestoun,  in  the  county  of 
Clackmannan,  and  of  Susan,  daughter  of  Sir  Islay 
Campbell,  Bart.,  of  Succoth.  A  portrait  of  Sir  Islav 
over  the  fireplace  in  the  dining-room  at  Addington,  is 
considered  by  some  to  bear  a  strong  family  likeness  to 
the  late  archbishop.      For  the  earliest  education  of  his 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  127 

boyhood  he  was  indebted,  in  common  with  some  other 
distinguished  men,  to  the  High  School  and  the  Academy 
of  Edinburgh,  and  at  a  later  period  to  the  University 
of  Glasgow.  A  Scottish  "  University  man  "  need  not 
necessarily  be  older  in  years  than  a  sixth-form  English 
schoolboy ;  and  this  was  tlie  case  with  young  Tait, 
who  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age  when  a  "  Snell " 
exhibition  carried  liim  south vrnrds,  and  launched  him 
into  the  midst  of  Oxford  life  at  Balliol. 

To  these  Glasgow  days  belongs  probably  a  story 
often  told  by  his  eldest  brother.  Sheriff  Tait,  who 
lived  to  witness  his  youngest  brother's  installation,  at 
Canterbury,  as  Primate  of  All  England.  The  brothers 
v/ere  on  a  visit  to  London,  and  their  siLiht-seein": 
included  the  House  of  Lords.  When  i\\Q  party  entered 
the  chamber  young  "  Archie  "  Tait  asked  the  attendant 
where  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  usually  sat.  The 
seat  being  pointed  out,  he  straightway  planted  himself 
in  it,  saying,  "  Here  I  mean  to  be  one  day."  The 
daring  youthful  ambition  of  the  Glasgow^  student 
reaped  its  fullilment  in  the  enthronement  of  the  first 
Scottish  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  on  the  4th  of 
February,  1869.  But  some  high  steps  were  to  be 
climbed  before  the  historical  marble  chair  of  St. 
Augustine  was  reached. 

Young  Tait's  answer  to  the  blaster  of  Balliol, 
when  asked  why  he  had  come  to  Oxford,  \vas  as 
prompt  as  it  was  prophetic — "  To  improve  myself  and 
to  make  friends."  In  both  ends  he  succeeded. 
Scholar,  Fellow,  and  tutor  of  Balliol,  First   Classman 


128 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 


and  Public  Examiner,  it  is  true  of  him,  all  through 
every  stage  of  his  varied  life-journey,  that  he  made 
friends,  and  never  lost  one  when  made.     To  the  end 


THE  OLD  COLLEGE,  GLASGOW. 

of  his  career  a  warm  personal  friendship  and  cordial 
affection  existed  between  him  and  men  who  differed 
widely  from  him  on  important  questions.  Of  these 
Oxford  days  one  of  the  leading  clergy  of  the  diocese 
of  Canterbury  writes  thus :  "  His  photograph  now 
before  me  is  really  not  so  different  from  the  face  to 


ARCHBISHOP  TAir.  129 

which  it  carries  me  Lack  in  1833.  He  was  about 
two  years  before  me  in  standing,  and  I  have  as  freshly 
as  ever  before  me  the  face  and  the  voice  which  was  to 
me  as  one  of  my  youth's  beacons,  stern  and  strong,  yet 
so  genial,  amidst  the  shoals  of  Oxford  life." 

From  his  own  death- chamber,  as  it  proved.  Arch- 
bishop Tait  sent  a  kindly  message  to  the  venerable 
Dr.  Pusey  only  a  few  hours  before  the  death  of  the 
latter.  This  reminds  us  of  Mr.  Tait's  first  public  act 
in  connection  with  the  Oxford  movement  with  which 
Dr.  Pusey's  name  will  always  be  a.ssociated,  and  of 
which  in  its  earliest  stages  Mr.  Mozley,  in  his  "  Ee- 
miniscences  of  Oriel,"  has  lately  presented  ns  with 
some  interesting  word  pictures.  It  was  in  the  year 
1 841,  memorable  in  the  history  of  the  Church  of 
England  during  the  present  century  as  being  marked 
by  the  publication  of  tlie  famous  Tract  XC,  the  work 
of  John  Henry  Newman.  The  author  is  said  to  have 
been  profoundly  amazed  at  the  convulsion  which  he 
created.  Dr.  Pusey,  in  a  preface  to  a  re-publication 
of  the  Tract  in  1866,  also  states  that  when  he  first 
read  the  Tract  he  was  "  surprised  at  the  excitement." 
But  the  excitement  was  genuine,  and  the  flame  burnt 
fiercely.  The  first  note  of  indignant  expostulation  and 
alarm  was  sounded  in  a  letter,  almost  as  famous  as  the 
Tract  which  evoked  it,  sent  to  the  editor  of  the  series, 
and  signed  by  four  Oxford  tutors.  The  last  of  the 
four  signatures  was  that  of  A.  C.  Tait,  M.A.,  Fellow 
and  Tutor  of  Balliol  College. 

With  the  immediate  after-history  of  the  "Tractarian" 

I 


I30 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 


movement,  however,  we  are  not  concerned,  for  the 
Fellow  of  Balliol  who  put  his  name  to  the  letter  was 
in  the  next  year  called  away  to  a  wider  field  of  useful- 
ness. He  had  entered  his  deliberate  protest  as  a 
teacher    in    the    University,    whose    duty   it   was    to 


BALLIOL   COLLr-GE,    OXFOkD 


instruct  young  men  in  the  doctrines  of  tlie  Clnirch  of 
England,  and  he  was  not  again  called  into  the  fore- 
front of  that  particular  part  of  the  battle-field,  until 
his  consecration  to  the  See  of  London  in  1856  brought 
him  once  again  face  to  face  with  some  later  phases  of 
the  Eome-ward  revival. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  131 

In  1842,  as  we  have  said,  he  left  Oxford,  having 
been  elected  Head  Master  of  Ptiigby.  For  no  man, 
however  eminent,  wonld  it  have  been  a  light  matter  to 
succeed  Thomas  Arnold.  None,  we  may  be  sure,  felt 
this  more  deeply  than  the  young  Tutor  of  Balliol.  To 
be  called  to  the  government  of  a  great  public  school, 
when  its  fortunes  are  at  a  low  ebb,  and  wliich  is 
existing  only  on  shadowy  memories  of  by-gone  glories, 
is  well  fitted  to  put  a  clever  man  on  his  mettle  and 
call  into  active  exercise  his  highest  abilities.  But  to 
step  into  the  empty  place  of  a  successful  administrator 
on  the  very  top  of  the  flood  of  his  success  is  an  enter- 
prise from  which  not  a  few  men  would  naturally 
shrink.  How  well  Dr.  Tait  fulfilled  the  delicate  task 
the  annals  of  Piugby  School  in  its  continued  and 
increasing  prosperity  amply  testify.  Foremost  among 
the  devoted  personal  friends  who  followed  his  bier 
down  the  areat  avenue  in  Addino'ton  Park  were  men 
of  mark  who  had  worked  under  him  as  their  honoured 
chief  at  Paigby,  and  old  pupils,  the  first  step  towards 
whose  success  in  life  dates  from  their  sixth-form  days 
in  the  Library  over  the  gateway  of  the  Pugby  quad- 
rangle. 

Of  those  old  pupils,  school-house,  or  sixth-form, 
who  up  to  the  end  of  his  career  were  ever  welcomed 
with  a  kindly  greeting  and  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand 
from  their  old  Head  Master,  the  name  is  Legion.  "  I 
never  thought  Tait  would  have  remembered  even  my 
name,"  has  many  a  time  been  the  gratified  remark  of 
some  old  Kugbeian,  wondering  at  the  accuracy  of  the 


132  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

Bishop  of  London's,  or  Archbishop's  school  memory. 
During  those  eight  years  the  future  ruler  of  men  was 
being  well  trained  in  the  lesser  world  of  schoolboy 
character.  One  characteristic  instance  of  this  may  be 
given.  At  Piugby,  as  readers  of  "  Tom  Brown's  School- 
days "  may  remember,  a  curious  institution  called 
"  shirking "  had  existed,  as  in  some  other  public 
schools,  since  antedihivian  days.  Briefly  it  consisted 
in  this :  when  boys  in  the  Lower  School,  being  "  out 
of  bounds,"  happened,  unfortunately,  to  meet  a  "  Prae- 
postor "  (or  sixth-form  boy)  the  etiquette  was  sternly 
enforced  that  they  must  make  a  pretence  of  backward 
flight.  The  sixth-form  potentates  themselves  would 
probably  have  thought  it  little  short  of  sacrilege  to 
touch  the  ark  of  the  time-honoured  observance.  The 
Head  Master  determined  dexterously  to  make  it  the 
work  of  his  forty  sixth-form  lieutenants  themselves. 
Sending  for  the  head  of  the  school,  the  "  primus  inter 
pares "  of  a  powerful  school  oligarchy,  he  took  him 
into  friendly  council,  and  bade  him  summon  his  com- 
rades of  the  "  Upper  Bench,"  and  arrange  with  them 
the  best  way  of  carrying  into  efi'ect  and  notifying  the 
contemplated  change.  The  dignity  of  the  Sixth-Form 
was  maintained,  and,  after  some  faint  expostulations 
from  the  more  conservative  of  the  body,  the  ancient 
custom  died  a  natural,  albeit  a  sudden  death,  without 
any  further  word  from  the  Head  Master.  One,  at 
least,  of  the  actors  in  this  little  drama  of  old  Paigby 
days  has  sometime  since  found  occasion,  in  conference, 
and  congress,   and    committee,   vividly  to    picture  to 


ARCHIBALD   CAMPBELL   TAIT. 
Frotii  a  Photograph  by  Messrs.  Elliott  ^^  Fry. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  135 

himself  this  far- back  scene  in  the  school  career  of  his 
old  master  and  lifelono-  friend. 

Within  the  first  year  of  his  Rugby  mastership  were 
struck  the  first  chords  of  a  happy  wedded  life,  fruitful 
in  many  years  of  united  Christian  usefulness,  to  the 
tender  melodies  of  which,  in  its  almost  dramatic 
variations  of  sorrow  and  of  joy,  he  has  himself,  with  a 
boldness  which  deserved  and  ensured  success,  invited 
the  public  ear  to  listen.  The  volume  "  Catharine  and 
Craufurd  Tait "  was,  in  the  absorbing  interest  of  its 
composition,  the  grateful  solace  of  the  chill  winter  of 
his  great  desolation  four  years  before  his  deaih,  and  the 
sympathetic  welcome  with  which  it  was  everywhere 
greeted  was  the  best  answer  to  those  who,  on  his  behalf 
alone,  had  dreaded  so  unusual  and  so  thorough  an  un- 
veiling of  the  sacred  inner  sanctuary  of  a  bereaved 
heart  and  stripped  life. 

In  1850  iJr.  Tait  was  promoted  to  the  Deanery  of 
Carlisle.  That  a  man  under  forty  should  be  made  a 
dean  seemed  to  some  a  singular  shelvin<][  of  a  vigorous 
character  for  which  much  more  congenial  work  miglit 
have  been  found.  But  the  new  dean  soon  proved 
that  in  hands  determined  to  find  work  for  God,  a 
deanery  need  be  neither  a  sinecure,  nor  even  neces- 
sarily a  peaceful  backwater  of  learned  leisure  beside 
the  rushing  torrent  of  nineteenth-century  energy. 
Within  the  cathedral  and  outside  its  walls  the  border 
city  of  Carlisle  soon  felt  the  undoubted  impress  of  a 
life  which  under  no  possible  circumstances  could  ever 
have  been  content  to  be  idle.      Many  an  old  friend  or 


136  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

pnpil,  who  had  halted  on  his  way  northward  or  south- 
ward, brought  back  to  the  great  world  outside  reports 
of  the  late  Head  Master  of  Ptugby's  usefulness  and 
popularity  amidst  his  new  surroundings.  How  at 
the  close  of  that  northern  cathedral  life  the  dark 
clouds  of  a  terrible  bereavement  gathered,  and  in  six 
weeks  five  beloved  children  were  swept  out  of  the 
earthly  home  by  scarlet  fever,  is  known  to  all  who,  in 
the  volume  named  above,  have  read  a  Christian 
mother's  touching  story  of  a  bitter  life  trial,  which  set 
its  seal  upon  the  very  faces  of  the  sorrowing  parents 
for  many  a  long  year  to  come. 

It  was  God's  own  special  preparation  for  His  own 
higher  work.  The  thick  cloud  still  hung  heavily  over 
the  desolated  home,  wlien  the  welcome  sun-gleam  of 
new  duties  to  be  faced  in  a  wholly  untried  field  of 
labour  broke  upon  the  Carlisle  deanery.  Whether  or 
no  their  irremediable  loss,  as  is  believed,  touched  the 
spring  which  moves  high  preferment,  none  can  doubt 
that  the  humbling  and  chastening  discipline  of  such  a 
sorrow  fitted  them  for  it  when  it  shortly  came  in 
unexpected  shape.  On  November  23,  1856 — he 
noted  the  exact  day,  twenty-six  years  later,  as  he  lay 
awaiting  the  final  summons  at  Addington — he  was 
consecrated  Bishop  of  London,  upon  the  res';^nation  of 
Bishop  Blomfield,  wlio  lived  on  at  Fulham  until  his 
death  in  the  next  year.  The  long  illness  of  that 
eminent  prelate  had  left  its  unavoidable  fruit  of  large 
arrears  of  practical  detail,  with  Avhich  none  but  a 
Bishop  of  London  in   the  flesh  and  in  health    could 


CHOIR,    CARLISLE  CATHEDRAL. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT,  139 

properly  deal.  Until  Loudon  House  could  be  made 
ready,  he  occupied  a  house  in  Lowndes  Square,  and 
the  pressure  of  accumulated  business  in  a  limited 
space,  of  never-ceasing  personal  interviews,  of  imme- 
diate advice  to  be  given  on  unaccustomed  subjects,  of 
endless  letters  to  be  written,  can  hardly  be  imagined 
by  any  who  were  not  actual  eye-witnesses  of  at  least 
one  of  these  earliest  busy  London  days. 

But  in  due  time  London  House  was  made  ready, 
and  shortly  afterwards  the  greater  liberty  and  com- 
parative retirement  of  Fulham  enabled  the  Bishop 
boldly  to  face,  and  manfidly  try  to  overtake,  the 
almost  superhuman  task  which  such  a  See  as  that  of 
London  presented  to  his  practical  and  work-loving 
temperament.  None  can  doubt  that  upon  the  twelve 
years  of  his  London  episcopate  he  left,  deeply  im- 
pressed, the  mark  of  earnest,  self-denying,  and  suc- 
cessful exertion,  culminating,  for  the  benefit  of  his 
successors,  in  the  successful  establishment  of  the 
Bishop  of  London's  Fund,  and  the  London  Diocesan 
Home  Mission.  Often,  almost  as  a  rule  during  the 
busiest  months  of  a  London  season,  after  a  heavy  day's 
work,  and  the  almost  inevitable  evening  spent  in 
society,  or  in  preaching  at  a  distance  from  home,  he 
would  be  found,  with  his  chaplain,  writing  letters  well 
into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning.  "  Let  us,"  he 
\vould  say,  ''just  clear  out  this  letter-basket,  before  we 
go  to  bed."  A  working  example  begets  like  workers. 
He  had  the  rare  power  of  stirring  up  others  to  a 
willing  multiplication  of  labour.      "  The   sacred   prin- 


140  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

ciple  of  delegation,"  as  witli  a  playful  smile  lie   often 


IN    THE   GROUNDS    AT   FULIIAM. 


called   it,   became  in   liis   hands   a  powerful  lever  of 
extended  and  laborious  usefulness.     When  he  chose 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  141 

an  instrument,  he  preferred  to  trust  him,  in  matters  of 
detail,  for  the  carr3ang  out  of  any  particular  work  en- 
trusted to  his  hands.  No  leader  of  men  was  ever 
more  generous  in  his  confidence,  and  few  leaders  have 
been  more  faithfully  loved  and  more  loyally  served  by 
those  to  whom  his  confidence  was  thus  largely 
accorded. 

But  the  shadows  of  this  active  life,  spending  itself 
in  unceasing  toil  for  Christ,  were  already  beginning  to 
lengthen,  and  we  must  pass  on  to  the  last  and  most 
important  stage  of  all,  upon  which  for  fourteen  years 
he  played  the  part  in  which  Archibald  Campbell  Tait 
will  be  best  remembered. 

Archbishop  Longley,  honoured  and  loved,  died  in 
the  latter  end  of  the  autumn  of  1868.  On  Thursday, 
February  4,  1869,  his  successor,  the  first  Scottish 
Primate  of  All  England,  was  enthroned  in  the  stately 
Metropolitical  Church  of  Christ  in  Canterbury.  At 
that  time  no  steps  liad  been  taken  towards  warming 
the  great  building,  and  Dean  Alford  had  charitably 
and  characteristically  advertised  in  the  daily  papers 
the  exact  degree  of  low  temperature  to  which  the  con- 
gregation would  be  exposed.  But  in  spite  of  so 
seasonable  a  warning  the  interest  of  the  city  and 
neighbourhood  in  their  new  Archbishop  was  not  to  be 
daunted,  and  a  vast  concourse  assembled  to  behold 
him  "  inducted,  installed,  and  enthroned "  by  Arch- 
deacon Harrison,  acting  as  proxy  for  Archdeacon  Croft 
(then  near  his  end),  "  into  the  real,  actual,  and  corporal 
possession   of   the   See   of    Canterbury,   with  all  and 


142  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

singular  the  Eights,  'Dignities,  Honours,  Pre-eminences 
and  Appurtenances  thereof." 

The  fourteen  years  of  Archbishop  Tait's  Primacy 
make  up  a  period  in  the  annals  of  the  Church  of 
England  of  singular  interest  and  importance.  The 
disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church  in  the  very  year 
of  his  enthronement  brought  him  to  the  front  at  once 
as  the  chief  representative  of  the  National  Church  in 
the  crreat  council-chamber  of  the  nation.  Since  that 
day  of  conflict  sufficient  time  has  elapsed,  and  enough 
of  the  dust  and  smoke  of  battle  has  cleared  away  from 
the  battle-field,  to  enable  us  fairly  to  estimate  the 
wisdom  of  the  course  which  he  judged  it  best  to 
pursue.  It  is  possible  that  some  ardent  spirits  may 
still  be  found  who  think  that  the  Primate  of  All 
England  should  have  actively  protested  against  the 
Bill,  and  fought  out  a  losing  battle  to  the  bitter  end. 
But  such,  it  may  fairly  be  said,  is  not  the  deliberate 
judgment  of  the  vast  majority  of  Christian  politicians. 
It  is  acknowledged,  even  by  those  who  wish  he  had 
acted  otherwise,  that  his  resolute  attitude  was  instru- 
mental in  obtaining  for  our  sister  Church,  thus  sud- 
denly assailed,  a  far  larger  share  of  endowment  tlian 
would  otherwise  have  been  saved  in  its  downfall.  Nor 
did  his  warm  interest  in  the  after  fortunes  of  the 
Church  of  Ireland  cease  with  his  parliamentary  advo- 
cacy of  what  he  regarded  as  its  just  claims  to  consi- 
deration. In  meetino-3  held  afterwards  in  Lambeth 
Palace  he  strenuously  urged  upon  all  members  of  the 
Church  of  England  the  brotherly  duty  of  generously 


CANTILKBUUV   CATIIEUKAL. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  145 

aiding  their   Irish   brethren   under   their   many  diffi- 
culties. 

In  matters  nearer  home,  wherever  he  believed  that 
n  definite  and  real  grievance  existed  on  the  JSToncou- 
fonnist  side,  he  was  always  strongly  of  opinion  that 
no  mere  fear  of  possible  contingencies  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  an  abatement  of  the 
grievance.  The  Burials  Act  of  1880  was  an  instance 
in  point.  His  views  were  shared  by  many,  and  not 
the  least  influential  of  the  English  clergy.  But  none 
knew  better  than  Archbishop  Tait  that  a  large  majority 
of  the  parochial  clergy,  who  were  personally  most 
immediately  affected  by  the  proposed  opening  of  their 
churchyards,  were  very  strongly  opposed  to  the 
measure.  Against  the  views  which  he  held  he  re- 
ceived constant,  sometimes  angry  expostulations,  often 
from  persons  from  whom  he  was  sorely  grieved  to 
differ  on  such  a  point.  At  one  of  his  Diocesan  Con- 
ferences, held  in  the  library  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter 
at  Canterbury,  a  clergyman,  holding  only  a  temporary 
cure  in  his  diocese,  thought  it  consonant  with  good 
taste  to  request  permission  to  delay  the  regular  and 
appointed  business  of  the  Conference,  until  a  resolution 
proposed  by  himself  should  have  been  discussed,  vir- 
tually censuring  the  conduct  of  the  Archbishop  himself 
with  reference  to  the  Burials  Amendment  Bill! 
Never  did  the  gentleness  and  patience  for  which  the 
good  Primate  was  eminent  shine  out  more  brightly 
than  in  the  happy  way  in  which,  as  chairman,  he  con- 
tented himself  with  simply  stating  that  it  was   advis- 

E 


146  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT, 

able  that  the  business  should  go  forward  on  the  lines 
already  laid  down,  without  admitting  any  fresh  sub- 
jects of  discussion. 

It  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  Archbishop  Tait 
occupied,  if  he  did  not  to  a  considerable  extent  create 
for  the  dignified  office  to  which  he  was  called,  a  wliolly 
new  position,  as  the  acknowledged  head  of  English- 
speaking    Christendom.     In  the   first   Lambeth    Con- 
ference of  Bishops  in  1867,  under  Archbisliop  Longley's 
primacy,  he  took  a  prominent  part  as  Bishop  of  London. 
In  the  second  Conference  of  1878,  the  whole  Colonial 
and  American  Episcopate  ungrudgingly  recognized  at 
Lambeth    the  unique  vantage-ground,  and   admirable 
qualities,  essential  to  any  personal  and  visible  centre 
of  Anglican  Church  unity.     None  but  an  eye-witness 
of  the  continuous  stream,  yearly  increasing  in  volume, 
of  public  and  private  Cliurch  business,  which  of  late 
years  has  poured  its  rolling  waves  into  Lambeth  from 
all  quarters  of  the  globe,  can  properly  appreciate  the 
actual  position  which  Lambeth  at  this  moment  occupies 
towards  the  religions  of  the  world.     The  whole  of  our 
Anglican  Colonial  Churches,  with  their  almost  yearly 
growing  catalogue  of  Sees,  consider  themselves  privi- 
leged to  turn  their  eyes  and  stretch  out  their  hands 
hither  for  counsel  in  difficulty,  the  choice  (it  may  be) 
of  a  bishop,  or  the  like.      Oriental  Churches,  rightly  or 
wrongly  disowned  by  their  more  "  orthodox "  neigh- 
bours, not  ashamed  to  appeal  wistfully  to  England  for 
sympathy  and   support,  find   in   the    Primate    of   All 
England    the   natural   recipient   of    their   claims   and 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  149 

necessities.  Is  one  of  our  great  Church  Societies 
perplexed  and  anxious  as  to  a  question  difficult  of 
solution  in  some  quarter  of  its  extended  field  of  work  ? 
The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  must  be  invoked  for 
the  loosing  of  the  tangle.  It  would  be  easy  to 
multiply  instances,  proving  how  the  modern  facilities 
of  postal  and  personal  intercourse  have  combined,  with 
the  present  amazing  revival  of  Church  life  in  all 
departments,  to  throw  upon  the  occupant  of  Augustine's 
Chair  a  burden  of  responsibility,  not  lightly  to  be 
refused,  absolutely  unknown  to  his  predecessors  in 
that  metropolitical  throne.  "  The  See  of  Canterbury," 
the  Bishop  of  Durham  truly  said  in  his  weighty 
Visitation  Charge,  spoken  a  few  days  after  the 
Primate's  funeral,  "in  strong  and  vigorous  liands  has 
been  something  more  than  the  Primacy  of  all  England. 
It  has  proved  the  Patriarchate,  not  indeed  in  name, 
but  in  efiect,  of  a  vast  aij^resjate  of  An^jlican  com- 
munities  scattered  over  the  continents  and  the  islands 
throughout  the  world." 

This  world-wide  Patriarchate  found  its  leofitimate 
and  most  interesting  expression  in  the  remarkable 
scene  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  which  formed  the 
appropriate  prelude  to  the  Lambeth  Conference  in  the 
summer  of  1878.  The  historical  marble  chair,  the 
throne  of  Ethelbert,  the  Sedes  of  Augustine's  See  of 
Canterbury,  was  placed  for  the  occasion  on  one  of  the 
steps  of  the  famous  eastward  ascent  beyond  the  Pres- 
bytery. At  first  it  had  been  arranged  that  the  Arch- 
bishop alone  should  be  seated,  while  the  forty  bishops, 


r5<3  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

English,  American,  and  Coloninl,  as  well  as  the 
-members  of  the  Cathedral  body,  might  more  con- 
veniently stand  during  his  brief  allocution.  "  What !  " 
he  exclaimed,  when  this  was  explained  to  him,  "  this 
will  never  do !  It  will  be  Augustine  and  the  Welsh 
bishops  over  again."  *  This  happy  reference  to  Bede's 
well-known  story  settled  the  question,  and  chairs  were 
found  for  the  bishops  on  tlie  same  marble  flight  of 
steps.  Then  followed  the  address,  dignified  and 
solemn,  welcoming  the  visitors,  and  closing  with  a  few 
words  of  touching  gratitude  to  his  "brothers  from 
across  the  Atlantic "  for  their  kindness  to  "  one  very 
dear  to  me  last  autumn."  His  only  son  had  lately 
returned  from  a  visit  to  the  States,  to  die  just  a  month 
before.  "  And  now,"  he  added,  "  let  us  fall  to  prayer." 
And  the  evening^  service  beofan. 

We  have  seen  what  Archbishop  Tait  was  to  the 
Church  and  to  the  world.  A  few  words  remain  to  be 
said  as  to  what  he  was  in  himself.  There  is  a 
Christian  humility  perfectly  consistent  with  that 
Christian  self-reliance  which  underlies  true  strength 
of  character.  He  was  both  humble  and  self-reliant. 
The  simplicity  of  his  genuine  belief  in  the  working 
power  of  prayer  was  undoubted,  pervading  e^ory  detail 

*  A  CeUic  Church  existed  in  Britain  before  Angnstine  came 
to  convert  the  heathen  English.  The  Bishops  of  this  Church 
hesitated  to  aclcnowledge  Augustine's  supremacy;  and  their 
resentment  of  what  seemed  to  them  the  haughty  tone  of  t!ie 
new-comers,  prevented  for  a  long  time  the  reconciliation  of  the 
old  British  and  the  new  English  Church. 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  153 

of  a  daily  life,  throughout  which  he  strove  to  walk  in 
the  footprints  of  a  living,  personal  Saviour.  To 
strangers  he  sometimes  seemed  constrained,  reserved, 
even  stern  in  manner.  But  the  true  man  was  widely 
different.  His  remarkable  social  charm  and  playful 
w4t,  innocent  always  of  sting  to  wound,  came  often 
like  a  fresh  revelation  upon  new  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, from  Balliol  days  to  Lambeth.  Quite  up  to 
the  end  this  characteristic  charm  and  playfulness 
would  at  times  flash  out  like  brio-ht  sunsliine  tliroug;h 
the  clouds  of  his  sorely  chastened  life.  Of  the  great 
double  sorrow  wdiich  fell  upon  him  in  the  evening  of 
his  days,  he  has  himself  told  the  story  in  the  same 
volume  which  spoke  of  liis  earlier  life  sorrow  in  the 
Deanery  at  Carlisle.  Those  who  were  nearest  to  him 
in  daily  intercourse  know  that  on  Ascension  Day  aud 
Advent  Sunday  of  1878,  in  the  loss  of  son  and  wife, 
"the  wheel  was  broken  at  the  cistern."  It  may  be 
doubted  whether  all  through  the  remaining  four  years 
he  had  for  himself  any  real  wish  to  live.  But  it  is 
not  many  who  would  have  reason  to  believe  it.  His 
never-failing  unselfishness  and  genial  courtesy  made 
him  rouse  himself  in  company,  and  exert  himself  to 
take  a  lively  interest  in  things  which  interested 
others. 

So,  witli  such  strength  as  was  left  to  him,  lie 
laboured  on,  patiently,  prayerfully,  hopeful  as  always 
in  the  welfare  of  the  Church  entrusted  to  his  charge, 
until  at  the  end  of  last  August,  the  Angel  of  Death, 
who  long  had  hovered  near,  laid  a  cold  hand  upon  his 


154  ARCHBISHOP  TAIT. 

heart.  Some  weeks  later  the  hopes  of  those  who  loved 
him,  and  of  all  who  laid  great  store  by  so  valuable  a  life, 
were  raised  by  what  proved  to  be  a  last  effort  of  the 
singular  recuperative  powers  of  his  constitution  shown 
under  former  attacks  of  severe  illness.  But  it  was 
only  a  brief  Martinmas  summer  of  deceitful  promise, 
and  in  the  middle  of  iNovember  it  was  evident  that  the 
last  reserves  of  health  were  now  all  but  exhausted. 

During  the  week  preceding  Advent  Sunday,  know- 
ing that  his  time  was  short,  he  quietly  made  all  his 
last  preparations  for  crossing  the  river  which  lay 
between  himself  and  the  many  loved  hands  stretching 
out  towards  him  from  the  fartlicr  shore.  Some  per- 
sonal friends,  at  his  own  request,  came  for  a  few  last 
words  of  farewell,  and  a  last  affectionate  grasp  of  his 
hand.  On  the  evening  of  Tliursday,  St.  Andrew's 
Day,  he  summoned  up  a  wonderful  vigour  of  voice  in 
a  solemn  prayer  of  blessing  over  the  Bishop  of 
Adelaide  (Dr.  Kennion),  consecrated  that  morning,  by 
commission  from  liimself,  in  Westminster  Abbey.  On 
Friday  a  gracious  message  of  true-hearted  sympathy 
from  the  Queen  roused  him  to  see  the  lady  who  came 
on  so  kind  an  errand,  and  to  write  with  trembling 
hand,  a  few  piteously  illegible  words  of  grateful 
response. 

From  tliat  time  onwards,  till  the  messenger  of  a 
higher  Sovereign  came  with  his  summons,  he  lay  con- 
scious, and  for  the  most  part  in  no  great  pain,  on  the 
mysterious  borderland  of  life  and  death. 

On  Advent  Sunday,  December   i,  four  years  before, 


ARCHBISHOP  TAIT.  155 

his  wife  had  passed  to  her  rest.  And  so  now,  on 
December  3,  1882,  just  as  another  Advent  Sunday 
morning  light  was  feebly  creeping  in  at  the  window 
of  his  chamber,  he  left  his  living  children,  praying 
around  his  bed,  to  enter  into  the  brightness  and 
rest  of  the  eternal  day.  Gently  and  painlessly  his 
spirit  passed  into  the  silent  land  within  the  veil, 
there  to  be,  with  wife  and  son  and  the  other  children, 
together,  and  for  "  ever  with  the  Lord." 

E.  Dover. 


^^ 


BISHOP     ERASER. 


'  For  others  a  diviner  creed 
Is  living  in  the  life  they  lead. 
The  passing  of  their  beautiful  feet 
Blesses  the  pavement  of  the  street, 
And  all  their  looks  and  words  repeat 
Old  Fuller's  saying,  wise  and  sweet, 
Not  as  a  vulture,  but  a  dove, 
The  Holy  Ghost  came  from  above." 

Longfellow. 


BISHOP    FRASER. 


HEN  a  boy  rises  to  a  bishopric,  the  ways  of 
mother,  aunts,  schoolmasters,  and  school- 
fellows all  rise  out  of  the  oblivion  of 
common  life  into  public  view,  and  the  secret 
forces  operating  in  a  million  other  lives  than 
his  become  exposed  to  public  judgment. 
James  Eraser  was  a  boy  of  fine  wholesome  spirit, 
good  to  look  at,  and  pleasant  to  hear  "  whistling  about 
the  house."  "When  I  ask  him  if  it  is  not  time  to 
begin  his  lessons,"  his  aunt  said  to  a  friend,  "his 
answer  is  always  the  same — 'Oh,  I  finished  them  long 
ago  ! ' "  Lessons  first,  whistling  afterwards  ;  that  was 
his  rule.  He  was  no  book-worm,  loved  the  fresh  air 
and  people,  and  was  an  everlasting  talker.  He  was  a 
round  rosy-faced,  good-natured  boy,  stuck  to  his 
lessons,  liked  rabbits  and  dogs,  was  fond  of  picking 


i6o  BISHOP  ERASER. 

mushrooms  and  of  long  walks,  and  thought  raised  veal 
pies  "  very  nice."  His  tastes  were  never  those  of  a 
precocious  boy.  He  was  indeed  rather  "  young  of  his 
age,"  but  he  was  always  genuine. 

Most  genuine  was  his  sonship.  When  he  was  four- 
teen years  of  age  his  father  died,  and  from  the  day 
when  they  all  returned  from  the  grave,  he  was,  as  best 
he  could  be,  a  husband  to  the  widow  ;  and  till  that 
widow's  death,  forty  years  afterwards,  he  never  ceased 
to  be  the  stay  of  her  life.  In  his  college  days  he 
abstained  from  all  his  greatest  delights  for  her  sake. 
Chief  among  his  pleasures  was  to  ride  on  horseback 
after  the  hounds  at  a  "  slapping  pace ; "  yet  he  refrained 
so  long  as  it  was  his  widowed  mother's  income  which 
must  bear  the  cost.  All  Oxford  was  not  as  much  to 
him  as  his  mother  and  her  comfort :  her  satisfaction  in 
him  was  an  ample  set-off  against  his  associates'  ridicule. 
His  passion  for  horses  began  in  his  boyhood,  when  he 
delighted  to  see  the  "  Quicksilver "  mail  go  by  his 
home,  awe-struck  and  delighted  as  he  reflected  that  it 
did  its  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  miles  in  eighteen 
hours  !  Things  that  did  their  best  were  glorious.  From 
the  first  day  after  widowhood  to  the  last  breath  she 
drew,  James  Eraser's  mother  knew  nothing  but  joy  in 
her  healthy,  wholesome  son.  He  was  a  good  brother 
too,  and  was  the  admiration  of  onlookers  for  his  care- 
ful, unselfish  interest  in  all  the  family,  of  which  he  was 
the  eldest  child. 

His  cleverness  was  boyish  cleverness.  He  was  true 
to  his  proper  sphere  and  age,  and  never  grew  into  that 


BISHOP  ERASER.  i5l 

moral  deformity,  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders ; 
much  less  did  he  turn  his  young  head  into  a  book 
depot.  It  was  a  human  head,  grasping  the  problems 
of  young  humanity  with  that  same  naturalness  and 
earnestness  which  was  to  make  him  famous  when  his 
manhood  had  brought  him  abreast  of  manhood's  ques- 
tions, and  made  his  labours  natural  and  delightful  to 
himself  and  of  high  value  to  his  country. 

To  be  boyishly  loyal  to  a  widowed  mother,  to  deny 
himself  high  delights  because  the  means  of  producing 
them  could  not  be  obtained  without  somebody  else's 
sacrifice,  may  seem  little  things,  far  away  from  any 
promise  of  grandly  filling  a  bishopric ;  but  it  is  just 
in  fidelity  to  the  divine  idea  in  such  "little"  things 
that  there  is  alone  the  promise  of  fidelity  "  in  much." 
When  Christianity  rules  the  appointments  of  Church 
and  State,  only  such  as  delighted  to  do  right  by  family 
surroundings  and  school  comrades  will  ever  be  chosen 
to  fill  seats  of  responsibility.  No  abilities,  no  acquire- 
ments can  atone  for  the  lack  of  "  a  good  and  honest 
heart,"  and  this  is  not  obtained  at  universities — it  is 
the  product  of  the  home. 

He  added  to  a  fine  disposition  a  clear  head,  a  strong 
memory,  and  a  good  judgment.  "  His  grandfather," 
writes  his  aunt,  "  is  constantly  exclaiming  what  a  nice 
lad  James  is.^^  "We  never  had  a  pleasanter  boy  in 
our  house,"  said  Mrs.  Eowsley,  his  schoolmaster's  wife. 
"  I  take  one  penny  publication  called  the  Penny 
Cyclopedia,  which  is  to  be  completed  in  seven  years," 
he  writes, "  and  a  twopenny  one.  The  Thief.  ....  They 

L 


l62  BISHOP  FRASER. 

are    very  cheap.     Mr.   Eowsley    recommended    tliem 

strongly.     I  send  you  a  copy  of  my  will As 

this  will  meet  the  eye  of  Aunt  William,  I  must  tell 
her  that  she   put   me  up    no   soap,   tooth-brush,    nor 

powder,  which  I  have  been  obliged  to  bay I  have 

covered  all  my  books  with  brown  paper "VVe  have 

had  snow  here,  and  a  great  deal  of  snowballing,  from 

wliich  I  caught  a  cold,  which  I  have  at  present 

I  believe  this  is  the  longest  letter  and  the  biggest  sheet 
I  ever  wrote  on,  and  having  exhausted  my  news  I  must 
conclude  ....  hoping  you  are  in  better  spirits  than 
when  I  saw  you  last,  and  that  John  and  Edward  are 
industrious  at  school.'^  Such  is  his  letter  at  sixteen 
years  old. 

At  seventeen,  his  name  was  entered  at  Balliol,  but  he 
went  into  residence  at  Lincoln,  where  he  read  con- 
scientiously, and  was  rigidly  economical,  though  of  an 
extremely  social  temperament,  while  economy  was  rare 
amongst  his  companions.  He  neither  gave  parties  nor 
went  to  them,  and  though  decidedly  fond  of  good  dress, 
gave  no  play  to  his  tastes.  His  supreme  considera^tion 
was  that  mother  at  home,  whose  slender  means  were  so 
taxed,  until  a  fellowship  had  been  won,  to  furnish  him 
with  the  bare  necessities  of  his  college  life.  The  self- 
restraint  of  loyalty  to  her,  first  learnt  and  practised  in 
his  humble  nursery,  served  him  well  at  Oxford,  as  it 
did  all  through  life.  It  was  this  which  gave  him  his 
early  place  among  the  admirations  of  his  kindred,  and 
this  prepared  him  to  v/in  the  affection  and  reverence  of 
the  great  city  of  Manchester.     Life  is  marred  or  made 


BISHOP  PRASE n,  t63 

by  the  first  spirit  that  is  put  into  it.  College  bearing 
is  but  the  fruitage  of  the  discipline  of  the  nursery,  and 
the  relation  of  the  child  to  the  mother.  The  thrift 
which  he  grew  up  to  teach  by  precept  and  example  to 
the  poor  of  villages  and  cities,  he  acquired  before  he 
gave  his  account  to  his  mother  of  his  monthly  ex- 
penditure of  a  penny  on  the  Cydopcedia.  And  he  did 
it  all  of  joy. 

"He  was  light-hearted,"  says  a  fellow-student,  Mr. 
Froude,  "  I  used  to  think  him  even  boyish."  Dean 
Church,  then  tutor  of  the  college,  where  Fraser  at 
length  won  his  fellowship,  said  that  "  his  thought  was 
young  rather  than  absent."  "  So  it  always  remained," 
says  Mr.  Froude. 

His  first  living  was  at  Cholderton,  "a  snug  little 
place,"  where  his  first  scheme  was  to  build  a  school.  To 
its  nice  parson  age -ho  use  his  mother  came,  and  from 
that  day  to  the  day  of  her  death  she  ever  after  lived 
under  her  son's  roof.  Here  he  had  a  curious  series  of 
troubles  through  the  squire  objecting  to  have  people 
"sitting  behind  him"  at  church,  "breathing  on  his 
back."  He  was  one  of  those  gentlemen  who  have 
made  void  the  saying,  "  The  earth  is  the  Lord's,"  unless 
is  meant  by  it  the  landlord's.  Land,  and  church  too, 
were  made  for  him,  and  he  had  given  a  few  cottages  for 
the  children  of  men.  So  far  did  he  go  in  his  contention 
about  his  back  not  being  breathed  upon  by  the  clod- 
hoppers of  the  parish,  that  he  threatened  rather  to 
throw  the  church  into  Chancery  or  to  build  another 
where  he  could  worship  by  himself,   if  he  could   not 


i64  BISHOP  ERASER. 

have  a  square  pew  made,  with  a  door  to  it,  and  where 
nobody  was  behind  him.  The  young  incumbent  could 
hardly  have  had  a  better  crown  to  his  collegiate  term 
than  a  few  years  of  study  of  this  old-fashioned  and  by 
no  means  rare  master  of  the  destinies  of  England's 
village  people.  Such  a  tutor  taught  him  something  of 
pastoral  life  more  practically  valuable  than  he  had 
found  in  the  measures  of  Homer ;  and  little  English 
Cholderton  meant  more  to  his  future  than  classical 
Troy,  for  he  was  every  inch  a  man  and  a  brother, 
absorbed  in  humanity  and  its  welfare,  not  in  scholar- 
ship, antiquity,  and  books. 

As  a  man,  Mr.  Eraser  began  to  urge  on  writers  in  the 
Times  whom  he  met  to  try  to  recast  our  home  govern- 
ment and  reform  our  military  and  naval  establishments. 
In  his  outspoken,  straightforward  way,  he  asks  one  of 
them,  "  Can  anything  be  so  sickening  as  the  system  of 
appointments  to  offices  of  the  highest  trust  in  both 
departments,  in  spite  of  past  warnings,  which  is  at  this 
moment  going  on  ? "  His  earliest  notion  of  newspaper 
men,  as  of  clergymen,  was  that  they  were  to  reprove 
iniquity  in  the  genuine  hatred  of  it.  But  he  found 
that  writers  in  the  Times  had  no  such  ideas  of  their 
vocation.  For  the  persons  of  the  wicked  he  had  no 
respect,  whether  poor  or  rich,  official  or  private.  He 
respected  righteousness  and  only  that,  whether  in  news- 
papers or  land-owners  or  mill-owners.  A  gouty  cripple 
on  the  bench,  a  petulant  temper  at  the  Admiralty  or 
the  War  Office,  an  imbecile  at  the  head  of  a  depart- 
ment, stirred  the  blood  of  the  young  rector  of  this  snug 


BISHOP  ERASER.  165 

village  to  indignation  and  shame,  which  afterwards 
told  so  healthily  on  the  great  centre  of  commercial 
activity  in  whose  episcopal  chair  he  sat.  Neither  ob- 
scurity nor  activity  changed  him  one  whit.  He  had  an 
abundant  love  of  righteousness. 

"1  do  wish,  dear  Mozley,  you  would  turn  your 
powerful  pen  in  this  direction,  and  teach  men  in  office 
what  sort  of  a  government  the  nation  will  expect  at 
their  hands,"  he  wrote  to  his  friend  on  the  Times.  His 
heart  was  for  his  nation ;  his  people's  good,  that  was 
what  men  should  seek.  But  he  lived  to  find  that  the 
nation  did  not  "  expect "  such  a  government,  nor  had 
newspaper  writers  such  innocent  notion  of  their  duty. 

After  ten  years  at  Cholderton,  he  went  to  Ufton, 
where  he  began  to  make  his  reputation  as  an  Assistant 
Commissioner  of  Education.  "  Education,"  he  wrote  as 
a  boy,  "  is  the  source  of  Jiappiness  to  society."  And  in 
this  as  in  so  many  other  matters,  the  boy  was  the 
father  of  the  man.  His  passion  was  to  stir  up  and 
discipline  the  latent  brain  in  men.  What  the  Creator 
had  made  them  capable  of,  that  he  desired  them  to  be. 
He  wanted  to  see  labourers  in  better  cottaojes,  their 
rate  of  wages  higher,  the  mode  of  hiring  them  more 
worthy  of  human  beings.  These  higher  possibilities 
were  forbidden  by  the  ways  of  their  superiors  in  rank 
and  wealth,  with  disastrous  consequences  to  the  moral 
and  social  welfare  of  the  nation. 

But  whilst  his  heart  was  in  the  ends  of  the  land,  his 
eyes  were  upon  the  little  work  God  had  given  him  at 
Ufton.     He  liked  to  see  the  healthy  enjoyments  of  his 


i66  BISHOP  FRASER. 

school-children,  and  the  excellence  of  his  hedgers', 
ditchers',  and  ploughmen's  work.  His  cottagers'  flower 
gardens  and  fruit-trees,  their  ailments  and  troubles,  had 
a  genuine  place  in  his  thought.  "  He  is  a  king  amongst 
"US,"  said  one  of  the  women  of  his  parish  regretfully,  as 
she  heard  that  he  was  going  away.  He  would  not 
waste  his  time  at  a  Clerical  Society  for  discussions, 
preferring  to  look  into  the  cases  of  poverty  which  came 
before  him  as  a  guardian.  Or  he  would  find  relaxation 
in  a  game  at  croquet,  or  in  a  drive  over  to  the  Eeading 
Savings  Bank.  He  had  not  been  long  in  Ufton  before 
a  dirty-walled  cottage,  a  loose  tile  on  a  roof,  a  weed- 
grown  walk,  or  an  unkempt  child  could  not  be  found. 
Mr.  Emerson  said  it  looked  to  him  as  if  gardens, 
cottages,  and  people  of  the  parish  had  all  been  "  brushed 
and  combed  every  morning  on  getting  up."  His 
cardinal  virtues  were  purity,  thrift,  and  temperance ; 
and  where  rebuke  was  needed,  besides  a  personal  and 
private  one,  he  gave  it  plainly  and  sharply  from  his 
pulpit. 

"While  at  Ufton  he  visited  America,  to  inquire  into 
its  school  system,  giving  to  the  proposals  for  English 
education  great  impetus  by  his  report. 

Then  he  became  Bishop  of  ^lanchester,  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  Mr.  Gladstone,  and  applied  himself  to  the 
welfare  of  his  diocese — not  that,  of  its  clergy,  its  churches, 
or  its  ecclesiastical  institutions,  but  of  its  people — in  a 
manner  wliich  has  given  his  name  a  place  amongst 
Manchester's  greatest  benefactors.  It  was,  from  the 
first,  his  regret  that  churches,  and  chapels  too  for  that 


JAMES    FRASER. 


Ff-om  a  FiU'to^raJ>h  by  Messrs.  Elliott  cp'  Fry. 


BISHOP  ERASER.,  169 

matter,  were  in  the  possession  of  the  well-dressed  and 
well-to-do  part  of  the  community.  He  deplored,  too, 
the  rigid  bonds  in  which  the  clergy  had  to  work. 
"  What  we  want,"  he  said,  "  is  the  Prayer-Book  and  the 
Bible,  and  freedom  to  use  them  as  may  seem  best." 
Although  Protestant,  he  was  indignant  with  cavillers 
about  Eubrics.  Men  were  differently  constituted,  by 
the  one  God  of  them  all,  and  must  be  allowed  diversity 
of  operation.  He  recognized  in  the  disciples  of  science 
fellow-workers  in  the  discovery  of  the  great  truth  of 
God.  Nature  and  revelation,  he  held,  could  not  be  con- 
tradictory, and  had  nothing  to  fear  from  one  another. 
On  one  occasion,  Professor  Huxley  said,  "  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  the  spirit-stirring  speech  of  the  noble  prelate, 
a  speech  I  welcome,  and  shall  remember  as  long  as  I 
live,  as  imbued  with  a  spirit  which,  if  it  had  always 
been  exhibited,  would  have  prevented  the  difficulties 
and  misunderstandings  which  I  myself  deprecate." 

But  what  he  gained  in  influence  over  the  religious 
notions  of  the  students  of  science,  he  lost  over  the  reli- 
gious bigotry  and  Pharisaism  of  those  whose  joy  was  to 
have  them  all  called  infidel.  What  he  gained,  too,  by 
his  robust  Protestantism,  over  masculine-minded  men 
and  women  he  lost  over  the  weak  school  of  sentimental 
prostration.  His  power,  too,  over  the  masses,  won  by 
their  love  of  his  frankness  and  fair-play,  was  purchased 
at  the  price  of  the  friendship  of  the  rich.  And  as  he 
feared  no  newspaper,  his  love  of  honest  truth  lost  him 
some  of  their  scribblers'  praise.  Of  censure  they  got 
tired.     He  treated  it  all  with  the  same  high-spirited 


I70  BISHOP  FRASER, 

indifference  with  which  he  treated  the  scoffs  of  the 
undergraduates  of  Oxford,  when  for  his  mother's  sake 
he  would  not  follow  the  extravagant  traditions  of  the 
place. 

In  his  weary  moments  he  cried  out  to  a  friend,  "  Oh, 
Sale,  I  would  give  half  I  possess  to  be  back  again  in  my 
quiet  country  parsonage  ! "  His  frank,  manly  nature, 
as  all  such  natures  must  do,  longed  for  the  personal 
element  which  was  so  constant  in  little  Ufton.  "  I 
preached  twice  yesterday  at  Ufton,"  he  says,  writing  to 
his  friend  Mr.  Mozley,  "  to  crowded  congregations.  I 
should  think  I  spoke  to  and  shook  hands  with  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  in  Ufton." 

Though  he  greatly  scandalized  aristocrats  by  his  ways 
and  orthodox  Churchmen  by  his  sayings,  he  went  straight 
into  the  hearts  of  the  common  people,  who  both  heard 
and  saw  him  gladly.  But  a  proper  bishop  could  not  be 
made  out  of  him ;  he  was  a  proper  man,  with  all  the 
play  of  feelings  which  knew  no  law  but  love  of  his 
race :  he  was  James  Eraser.  On  one  occasion,  when 
walking  in  the  streets  of  Manchester,  he  saw  a  horse 
and  cart  coming  at  a  rattling  pace  without  a  driver. 
Forgetting  the  commandments  of  apron  and  knee- 
breeches,  he  obeyed  the  commandment  of  Christ,  and 
did  to  the  unknown  driver  what  he  would  have  liked 
to  be  done  to  him  if  his  vehicle  were  running  away — 
he  ran  after  it,  and  he  could  run  con  amore,  caught  it, 
and  restored  it  to  the  baker's  boy  who  came  up,  too 
amazed  at  his  bishop's  doing  to  even  thank  his  friend. 
Ko  bishop  that  could  do  a  thing  like  that,  who  could 


BISHOP  FRASER, 


171 


not  help  doing  it,  ouglit  to  expect  the  esteem  of  the 
conventional  world.  But  mechanics  like  it,  and  it  can 
bring  them  into  fellowship  of  the  Gospel.  "  Don't  put 
his    statue    in     a 


church ;  put  it  out 
of  doors,  where  we 
can  see  it,"  said  the 
Manchester  people, 
when  it  was  being 
discussed  whether 
his  statue  should  be 
of  bronze  or  marble, 
they  cared  little 
which.  "  Put  it 
where  we  can  seo 
it,"  they  said.  It 
would  do  them  good 
to  see  it.  For  a 
bronze  Fraser  is 
better  than  a  living 
priest. 

So  many  great 
ecclesiastics  have 
ridden  in  their  car- 
riages through  the 
world,  criticizing, 
complimenting,  and 
recomplimenting  each  other,  yet  how  few  of  them 
have  furnished  to  the  masses  of  the  people  any  living 
example  of  that   Jesus  by  whose  Gospel   they  live! 


A   MANCUliSTER    WAREHOUSE. 


172  BISHOP  FRASER, 

Such  examples  have  been  furnished  quite  as  freely  by 
the   humblest   of   the    laity.     But    no    longer    is   this 
wholly  true  among  the  manufacturing  towns  of  Lanca- 
shire.    Their  inhabitants   have  felt   the   fellowship  of 
the  strong  heart  of  a  man  and  a  brother  beating  against 
a  bishop's  bosom.     A  "lord"  of  the  Church  has  been 
a  true  lord  of  their  hearts.     "  Eight  reverend "  was  a 
o-enuine   name,   and  sprang   spontaneously  from   their 
deepest  soul.     By  a  law  as  natural  as  that  which  made 
them   call   forests   beautiful   and   sunsets   grand,  they 
called  him  grand  and  good.      In  common  daily  lan- 
guage they  spoke  of  him  as  "  our  bishop,"  with  a  sense 
of  possession  somewhat  as  they  spoke  of  "  our  Mary " 
and  "  our  George,"  whom  they  loved. 

He  kept  on  his  strong,  cheery,  brotherly  way  to  the 
end,  faithfully  following  his  ideal  of  a  man  through  all 
the  years  to  his  grave.  He  could  do  little  for  the 
masses  he  so  greatly  loved ;  but  he  was  full  of  sorrow 
for  the  wrongs  they  had  to  endure,  and  the  cruel 
temptations  and  vices  and  miseries  into  which  they 
fell.  Of  his  feelings  as  to  the  way  in  which  they  were 
too  often  treated  in  churches  and  chapels  he  once  gave 
a  striking  illustration  when  he  was  opening  a  church. 
As  soon  as  the  bells  began  he  marched  to  a  seat  in  the 
chancel  from  which  he  could  watch  the  congregation 
come  in.  When  he  stood  up  in  the  pulpit  to  preach  he 
said  :  "  I  have  been  grieved  and  ashamed  to  see  how 
finely  dressed  people  have  been  shown  to  the  best  seats 
this  morning,  and  the  poor  have  been  put  behind.  I 
do  not  like  this ;  it  ought  not  to  be."     To  put  people 


BISHOP  FRASER.  173 

into  the  background  because  they  lived  beneath  grimy 
roofs,  up  attic  stairs,  was  no  way  of  his.  They  stood 
forward  in  his  heart,  and  were  the  main  end  of  all  his 
ways. 

"When  he  officiated  in  the  Cathedral,  he  desired  that 
brethren  might  join  and  genuinely  say,  "  Our  Father." 
He  did  not  stand  in  his  pulpit  for  an  exhibition,  but  to 
set  right  things  that  were  wrong.  If  he  was  glad  that 
his  titles  attracted  the  rich,  it  was  that  he  might 
reprove  what  selfishness  and  arrogance  they  might  be 
fostering.  If  merchants  were  proud  of  his  friendship, 
this  was  the  opportunity  to  urge  on  them  consideration 
for  working  people.  He  left  the  footprints  of  one  of 
the  people  on  the  floors  of  their  marble  halls.  Simple 
souls  he  led  as  by  a  thread  to  the  ideal  of  Him  who 
was  rich  yet  for  our  sakes  became  poor  ;  but  with  men 
who  loved  riches  more  than  their  neighbours  his  thread 
snapped,  and  they  resented  its  slight  twitch.  "  He 
is  not  orthodox,"  they  said :  "  why  is  he  not  satisfied 
with  faith  in  the  Articles  as  the  old  bishop  was  ? " 
From  such  people's  palatial  villas  he  turned  himself  to 
grimy  Manchester,  and  could  not  be  "  satisfied."  Xow 
and  again  he  uttered  a  low  cry  of  disappointment,  and 
sank  down  to  his  desk  to  write  to  somebody  he  could 
trust,  with  a  weary  heart.  He  loved  his  church,  his 
city,  his  country  :  no  wonder  he  was  weary.  Again 
and  again,  he  wished  he  had  never  left  the  country;  yet 
he  did  not  go  back  to  it,  but  died  among  the  mill- 
hands  and  the  little  town  children  he  so  much  loved. 
That  they  might  all  eat  an  honest  crust,  live  sober 


174  BISHOP  FRASER. 

pure,  and  kindly  lives — that  v/ould  be  reward  enough 
for  him.  A  generation  of  such  bishops  would  renew 
the  face  of  the  land. 

Because  church-doors  were  by  some  men  counted 
barred  to  them,  he  went  outside  those  doors,  and  was 
with  them  at  their  clubs,  social  meetings,  thrift 
societies — anywhere,  indeed,  where  Christ's  ideal  of  life 
and  conduct  might  be  set  up  for  men  to  see  and  attain. 
They  would  not  come  to  him,  so  he  went  to  them.  So 
some  men  counted  wise  said  he  spoilt  the  "  dignity "  of 
a  bishop ! 

The  different  kinds  of  impression  produced  by 
Dr.  Fraser  on  his  hearers  is  well  marked  by  the 
following  typical  cases.  One,  being  asked  her  im- 
pression of  his  sermons,  replied,  "  The  Bishop's  sleeves 
want  washing."  "  Ah  !  he'd  mak'  a  rare  Methody  !  " 
was  the  impression  expressed  by  another.  The  former 
was  a  lady  ;  the  latter  a  working  man. 

Till  within  a  few  years  of  the  close  of  his  life  he 
remained  a  single  man,  and  consequently  lacked  that 
subtle  grace  of  manhood  which  loyal  love  of  a  wife 
alone  can  give.  He  was  not  without  womanl}^  com- 
panionship, nor  did  he  lack  love.  His  mother  was  his 
fond  charge  to  the  close  of  her  life. 

But  mothers  cannot  transform  manliness  in  the  way 
wives  do.  His  straightforwardness  would  have  been 
less  harsh,  had  he  been  under  that  influence  which 
nothing  but  marriage  can  give.  A  few  years  before 
the  end  he  set  this  right,  so  far  as  late  marriages 
can  set  things  right.     The  wife   of   youth  alone  has 


BISHOP  ERASER.  175 

fair-play.  How  much  the  little  air  of  infallibility 
which  his  enemies  made  so  much  of,  and  which  his 
friends  could  not  but  regret,  was  due  to  the  lack  of 
God's  first  provision  for  man,  it  is  not  possible  to  say. 
But  Lord  Shaftesbury  is  reported  to  have  said  that  the 
dogma  of  papal  infallibility  would  never  have  been 
propounded  had  it  not  been  for  papal  celibacy.  jSTo 
married  man  ever  dreamed  that  he  was  infallible. 
Nor  did  the  late  Bishop  of  Manchester  dream  that  he 
was ;  but  for  all  that  there  was  just  a  little  air  of  it 
about  him. 

The  bishop's  body  lies  in  his  little  Ufton  church- 
yard ;  and,  for  tliis  generation  at  least,  his  memory  is 
enshrined  in  half  a  million  hearts,  standing  at  looms, 
riveting  boilers,  and  driving  cabs  and  drays  in  the 
great  manufacturing  towns  and  villages  of  Lancashire. 
For  the  sake  of  justice  to  his  enemies,  we  will  say  that 
Dr.  Fraser  had  his  faults,  which,  in  virtue  of  his  strong 
nature  and  his  ever  being  before  the  public,  were  both 
pronounced  and  much  in  view.  A  feebler  man,  one 
less  intent  on  using  every  opportunity  which  offered  to 
serve  the  temporal  interests  and  advance  the  religious 
life  of  the  masses  around  him,  might  have  had  ten 
times  more  faults  and  not  a  tithe  of  the  reproach  that 
came  to  him.  Dumb  and  selfish,  James  Fraser  would 
have  been  almost  beyond  censure.  One  big  funda- 
mental fault  covers  a  multitude  of  sins. 

Mary  Harpjson". 


DR.    ARNOLD. 


M 


"  Scouts  upon  the  mountain's  peak— 
Ye  that  see  the  Promised  Land, 
Hearten  us  !   for  ye  can  speak 
Of  the  country  ye  have  scann'd 
Far  away ! ' ' 

Dora  Greenwell. 


DR.   ARNOLD. 


HE  generation  educated  by  Dr.  Arnold  is  al- 
ready growing  old  and  ready  to  depart.  His 
most  illustrious  pupil  and  biographer,  whose 
life  is  told  in  a  previous  chapter,  sleeps  be- 
neath the  venerable  pile  which  his  scholar- 
ship and  geniality  did  so  much  to  endear 
even  to  the  new  democracy.  But  the  memory  of  the 
great  schoolmaster  is  still  green  and  flourishing.  To  the 
sons  and  grandsons  of  those  whom  he  taught  his  name 
still  breathes  a  living  inspiration.  Even  among  the 
millions  outside  the  charmed  circle  of  his  immediate 
influence,  his  name  has  become  a  household  word, 
suggesting  the  highest  aims  and  methods  of  Christian 
education.  A  man  whose  character  made  such  a  mark 
upon  the  century,  although  he  himself  rested  from  his 
labours  at  the  comparatively  early  age  of  forty- seven,  i3 


i8o  DR.  ARNOLD. 

not  likely  to  be  forgotten.      But  as  in  the  increasingly 
divergent  interests  of  this  busy  age  there  are  many, 
especially  among  the  young,  to  whom  he  is  but  a  name, 
it  may  be  well  to  devote  a  page  or  two  to  a  summary  of 
the  reasons  for  which  his  memory  is  held  so  fragrant. 
If  fortune  consists  in   lasting   usefulness,   together 
with  contemporary  honour  and  posthumous  fame,  then 
Thomas  Arnold,  Head  Master  of  Eugby  School,  was 
one  of  the  most  fortunate  men  who  ever  lived.    Eichly 
endowed  with  special  gifts  pre-eminently  adapting  him 
for  one  particular  work,  he  found  that  work  very  early 
in  life,  and  laid  it  down  before  the   slightest    touch 
of  weariness  could  diminish  his  manly  vigour.      His 
father  died  when  Arnold  was  quite  a  boy,  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  point  to  any  relative  or  teacher  to  whom 
he  was  specially  indebted  for  the  insight  and  skill  that 
enabled  him  to    re-inspire  with   new  life   the   public 
school  system  of  England.      He  was  himself  a  pupil, 
first  at  Warminster,  and  afterwards  at  Winchester  ;  but 
it  cannot  be  for  a  moment  suggested  that  anything  in 
the  management  of  these  schools  explains  the  origin 
of  his  own  methods.      His  career  at  Oxford  was  credit- 
able, though  it  can  scarcely  be  called  brilliant.      But 
the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  was  shown  by  his 
election  to  a  Tellowship  at  Oriel  in    1815,  mainly  on 
account  of   the   promise   and   power   of    growth    con- 
sidered to  be  apparent  in  his  papers.     This  Fellowship 
he  did  not  hold  for  long.      Four  years  afterwards  he 
removed  to  Laleham,  where  he  began  to  take  pupils  to 
prepare  for  the  University.     In    1 8 1 8  he  had  taken 


DR.  ARNOLD.  i8i 

deacon's  orders,  but  it  is  noticeable  that  he  was  not 
ordained  priest  until  ten  years  afterwards,  on  his 
appointment  to  Eugby.  In  the  year  after  his  removal 
to  Laleham  he  was  married,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
to  Mary  Penrose,  daughter  of  the  Eev.  John  Penrose, 
Eector  of  Fledborough,  in  Nottinghamshire,  and  sister 
of  his  own  intimate  friend  and  fellow-student,  Trevenen 
Penrose.  Arnold  in  early  life  did  not  afiect  to  be 
witliout  ambition,  though  he  afterwards  found  himself 
placed  in  a  career  such  as  ambition  usually  shuns. 
To  a  Eugljy  pupil  he  once  said,  "  I  believe  that 
naturally  I  am  one  of  the  most  ambitious  men  alive  ; " 
and  in  explaining  his  notion  of  ambition  he  said  the 
three  great  objects  alone  worthy  to  be  ambition's 
goal  were,  "  to  be  the  prime  minister  of  a  great  king- 
dom, the  governor  of  a  great  empire,  or  the  writer  of 
works  which  should  live  in  every  age  and  in  every 
country."  Writing  in  1823  he  said,  "  I  have  always 
thouQ-ht  with  recjard  to  ambition  I  should  like  to  be 
cmt  Cwsar  ant  nullns,  and  as  it  is  pretty  well  settled 
for  me  that  T  shall  not  be  Caesar,  I  am  quite  content 
to  live  in  peace  as  nulhis."  Happy  the  man  in  whom 
mere  selfish  ambition  is  thus  early  quenched  without 
any  paralysis  of  activity  or  devotion. 

In  the  congenial  worlv  of  education,  upon  which  he 
had  now  entered,  Arnold  found  amply  sufficient  daily 
incentives  to  exertio^_  without  any  tJiought  of  a  dis- 
tant future,  or  uli^rior  aims.  In  directing  and  dis- 
ciplining the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  youths  who 
Qame  to  him  before  they  passed  on  to  the  University, 


i82  DR,  ARNOLD. 

he  found  resources  in  his  own  nature  such  as  neither 
himself  nor  his  friends  had  hitherto  suspected.  His 
sympathies  were  drawn  out,  his  power  of  putting 
himself  in  the  place  of  struggling  beginners  had  not 
been  effaced  by  his  own  mastery  of  the  subjects  that 
he  taught.  But  his  aims  went  far  beyond  the  com- 
munication of  instruction.  He  regarded  it  as  his 
mission  to  fit  the  whole  constitution  of  his  young 
charges  in  body,  soul,  and  spirit  for  the  career  upon 
which  they  were  entering ;  and  all  students  who  left 
him  went  away  with  the  impression  that  they  had 
been  privileged  to  be  under  the  care  of  one  who  had  a 
genius  for  teaching.  "  The  most  remarkable  thing," 
says  one  of  these  pupils,  "  which  struck  me  at  once  on 
joining  the  Laleham  circle,  was  the  wonderful  healthi- 
ness of  tone  and  feeling  which  prevailed  in  it.  Every- 
thing about  me  I  immediately  found  to  be  most  real. 
It  was  a  place  where  a  new-comer  at  once  felt  that 
a  oreat  and  earnest  work  was  gjoing  forward.  Dr. 
Arnold's  great  power  as  a  private  tutor  resided  in 
this,  that  he  gave  such  an  intense  earnestness  to  life. 
Every  pupil  was  made  to  feel  that  there  was  a  work 
for  him  to  do,  that  his  happiness  as  well  as  his  duty 
lay  in  doing  that  work  well.  Hence  an  .  indescribable 
zest  was  communicated  to  a  young  man's  feeling  about 
life ;  a  strange  joy  came  over  him  on  discovering  that 
he  had  the  means  of  being  useful,  and  thus  of  being 
happy ;  and  a  deep  respect  and  ardent  attachment 
sprang  up  towards  him  who  had  taught  him  thus  to 
value  life,  and  his  own  self,  and  his  work  and  jnission 


DR,  ARNOLD. 

in  the  world."  Yet  this  work  involved  a  good 
of  drudgery 
to  the  mas- 
ter, drudgery 
such  as  illus- 
trates the  low 
condition  of 
even  secon- 
dary educa- 
tion at  that 
time  in  Eng- 
land. "  You 
can  scarcely 
conceive,"  he 
writes,  "  the 
rare  instances 
of  igQorance 
that  I  have 
met  with  a- 
mongstthem. 
One  had  no 
notion  of 
what  was 
meant  by  an 
angel ;  an- 
other could 
not  tell  how 
many  Gos- 
pels there 
are,  nor  could  trinity  chapel,  oxford. 


183 

deal 


i84  DR.  ARNOLD. 

he,  after  due  deliberation,  recollect  any  other  names 
than  Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke." 

That  the  ii'ksomeness  of  such  labom^s  did  not  in 
the  least  discourage  or  weary  xVrnold  only  showed 
that  he  had  found  his  true  vocation.  Even  in  deal- 
ing with  such  ignorance  he  rarely  betrayed  impatience, 
and  never  contempt ;  and  the  rare  instances  of  im- 
patience were  more  instructive  to  himself  than  to  liis 
pupils.  '*'  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  angiily,  sir  ? " 
said  a  dull  lad,  looking  up  with  surprise  into  his 
face ;  "  I  am  doing  the  very  best  I  can."  Arnold 
afterwards  declared  that  he  never  felt  so  much  liumili- 
ated  in  his  life  as  by  this  rebuke,  and  that  he  never 
fori^ot  it.  But  his  inherent  reverence  for  vouth  was 
so  great  that  it  was  rare  indeed  for  liim  thus  to 
betray  irritation.  He  loved  to  stimulate  self-respect 
by  his  own  attitude  of  truthfulness,  considerate 
delicacy,  and  even  humility.  He  felt  no  shame  in 
avowing  ignorance  when  he  did  not  know ;  and  it 
gave  him  manifest  pleasure  if  his  own  ignorance  could 
be  supplemented  by  some  accidental  knowledge  arising 
out  of  Jiis  pnpil's  special  experience.  The  writer 
already  quote  1  says  :  "A  strange  feeling  passed  over 
the  pupil's  mind  when  he  found  gi^eat  and  often 
undue  credit  given  him  for  knowledge  of  which  liis 
tutor  was  iij^norant.  But  this  f^enerated  no  conceit. 
The  example  before  his  eyes  daily  reminded  him  that 
it  was  only  as  a  means  of  usefulness,  as  an  improve- 
ment of  talent  for  his  own  good  and  tliat  of  others, 
that  knowledi^e  was  valued.     He  could  not  find  com- 


DR.  ARNOLD. 


1S5 


fort,  in  the  presence  of  such  reality,  in  any  shallow 
knowledge." 

During  these  ten  years  the  world  at  large  had  no 
means  of  knowing  anything  about  Arnold  except 
what  leaked  out  fi-om  the  small  but  rapidly  extending 
circle  of  his  pupils  and  admirers.  This,  however,  was 
quite  sufficient  to  fix  attention   upon  him  as   a  man 


specially  fit- 
prominent 
work  of  pub- 
In  1827  the 
tership  of 
vacant,  and 
strong  pres- 
friends, 
sented  to 
candidate  a- 
last  who  sent 
plications, 
testimonials 
Dr.  Hawk- 
of  Oriel,  in 
writer     pre- 


RL'Gin-  ciiAr;  l. 


ted  for  some 
pjst  in  the 
lie  education, 
head-mas- 
Eugby  was 
under  the 
sure  of 
Arnold  con- 
become  a 
mongst  the 
in  their  ap- 
One  of  his 
was  from 
ins.  Provost 
which  the 
dieted    that 


if  Arnold  were  elected  to  the  head-mastership  of 
Eu^bv,  he  would  chanire  the  face  of  education  all 
through  the  public  schools  of  England.  It  is  said 
that  this  testimonial  was  decisive.  Considering  the 
generally  conservative  character  of  the  trustees  of 
public  schools,  it  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  this 
shoidd  be  so:    for  chan!_'e   of   anv  kind  was   at  that 


i86  DR,  ARNOLD, 

time  abhorrent  to  them ;  but  be  that  as  it  may,  Arnold 
was  appointed. 

Within  the  short  space  of  a  sketch  of  this  kind, 
it  is  impossible  to  do  anything  like  justice  to  the  work 
achieved  at  Rugby.  "We  can  only  indicate  a  few 
points  which  suggest  at  once  the  secret  of  his  success, 
and  also  the  shortcomings  inevitable  in  any  attempt 
to  put  new  wine  into  old  bottles.  For  the  Gospel 
parable  undoubtedly  touches  a  weak  point  in  this 
great  career.  Thoroughly  conservative  in  sentiment, 
Arnold  was  yet  intellectually  on  the  side  of  progress, 
and  he  struggled  hard  to  combine  the  two  tendencies 
by  infusing  the  spirit  of  modern  Christian  civilization 
into  the  certainly  barbaric  forms  of  our  old  public 
school  system.  In  one  respect  only  could  it  be  said 
that  his  conservatism  and  his  progressive  spirit  were 
at  one.  He  stood  in  the  old  paths  of  religious  edu- 
cation ;  but  he  felt  that  those  paths  led  onward  and 
that  the  methods  of  religious  education  must  be 
adapted  to  the  times.  The  growth  of  children  into 
men  and  women  is  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Mmighty, 
just  as  the  expansion  of  the  seed  into  flower  and  fruit 
comes  by  the  energy  of  an  omnipresent  life.  But 
because  amongst  rational  creatures  growth  is  accom- 
panied and  marked  by  various  stages  of  consciousness, 
and  because  consciousness  is  keenly  affected  by  in- 
numerable external  influences,  it  is  essential  to  the 
healthiness  and  sanity  of  growth  that  these  influences 
should  be  good,  and  wholly  harmonious  with  the  power 
of  expanding  life.     With  this  conviction  Dr.  Arnold 


DR.  ARNOLD. 


187 


was  most  profoundly  imbued.  It  was  more  than  a 
conviction,  it  was  an  instinct  inherent  in  his  very 
being. 

Yet  while  his  idea  of  education  was  wholly  religious. 


INTERIOR   OF   RUGBY   CHAPEL. 


his  conception  of  the  spiritual  cultivation  possible 
to  boys  would  probably  not  pass  unchallenged  even 
now,  when  all  sections  of  Christians  unite  in  honouring 
him.  In  a  letter  written  after  his  appointment,  but 
before  his  induction,  he  said,  "  My  object  will  be,  if 


i88  ■  DR,  ARNOLD. 

possible,  to  form  Christian  men ;  for  Christian  Loys  I 
can  scarcely  hope  to  make.  I  mean  that  from  the 
natural  imperfect  state  of  boyhood,  they  are  not  suscep- 
tible of  Christian  principles  in  their  full  development 
npon  their  practice,  and  I  suspect  that  a  low  standard  of 
morality  in  many  respects  must  be  tolerated  amongst 
them,  as  it  was  on  a  larger  scale  in  what  I  consider 
the  boyliood  of  the  race."  His  opinions  on  this 
subject  were  afterwards  modified,  and,  as  most  would 
think,  happily  modified  by  experience.  He  encouraged 
even  the  younger  boys  to  become  communicants,  and 
was  never  more  gratified  tlian  wlien  tliere  were  a 
larcje  number  of  them,  Considerino-  the  sio-nificance 
of  the  Communion  as  the  highest  ritual  expression 
of  Christian  life,  this  would  seem  to  show  that  in  the 
course  of  his  work  he  came  to  tliink  more  higlily  of 
the  possibilities  of  boyish  religion. 

With  his  strong  sense  of  a  religious  inspiration, 
Dr.  Arnold  naturally  found  the  arrangement  incon- 
gruous which  separated  the  chaplaincy  of  the  school 
from  the  head-mastership.  As  soon  as  a  vacancy  in 
in  the  former  occurred,  he  united  the  two  offices  in 
himself,  making  it  a  condition,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  there  should  be  no  addition  to  his  salary.  The 
sermons  he  preached  as  pastor  of  his  young  flock  are 
amongst  the  most  interesting  and  beautiful  of  the 
records  of  his  work.  Simple,  direct,  practical,  and 
real,  they  searcli  out  the  temptations  of  a  boy's  life, 
and  unveil  with  impressiveness  and  lucidity  the  means 
of  deliverance. 


DR.  ARNOLD. 


189 


Br.  Arnold's  persistence  in  maintaining  and  defend- 
ing the  system  of  "  fagging "  was  surely  an  instance 
in  which  his  sentimental  conservatism  got  the  better 
of  his  reason.  His  argument  for  giving  the  Sixth 
Form  a  monitorial  jurisdiction  was  indeed  excellent. 


By  such  means  English  masters  are  enabled  the  better 
to  dispense  with  the  slavish  surveillance  and  detestable 
espionage  too  common  in  continental  schools.  But 
monitorial  jurisdiction  need  not  include  the  right  to 
menial   services  from  younger  boys   still  less  need  it 


190  tfR,  ARNOLD, 

include  an  authorization  to  thrash  them  with  a  stick. 
Not  even  Arnold's  genius  could  always  preserve  such 
a  system  from  ahuse;  and  had  he  not  found  it 
amongst  the  old  institutions  of  the  country,  we  are 
persuaded  that  any  proposal  to  introduce  it  would 
have  filled  him  with  horror.  His  maintenance  of 
corporal  punishment,  at  the  hands  of  the  master,  for 
the  younger  boys,  has  more  ground  in  nature  as  well 
as  in  Scripture ;  and  this  is  a  point  on  which  his 
sentimental  conservatism  was  perhaps  wiser  than  the 
sentimental  liberalism  of  the  age. 

In  his  treatment  of  assistant-masters  Arnold  showed, 
as  might  be  expected,  all  the  fine  feeling,  and  tact,  and 
consideration  characteristic  of  his  nature.  He  was 
enabled  to  do  so  all  the  more  readily  because  his 
strong  individuality  overmastered  all  around  him,  and 
penetrated  every  one  with  his  own  spirit.  But  he 
never  assumed  dictatorial  airs.  He  was  always  ready 
to  ask  advice  of  any  one  who  could  give  it.  And  it 
was  his  habit  to  meet  his  assistants  in  a  council  held 
once  in  three  weeks  when  all  the  business  of  school 
administration  was  freely  discussed. 

The  reign  of  this  king  among  schoolmasters  was 
all  too  short,  extending  only  to  fourteen  years.  On 
Sunday  morning,  June  12,  1842,  he  awoke  with  a 
pain  too  suggestive  of  heart-disease.  Alarmed  at  his 
symptoms,  Mrs.  Ai^nold  sent  for  their  medical  atten- 
dant. During  the  interval  her  husband  was  in  con- 
siderable suffering;  and  when  she  offered  to  read  to 
him,  he   asked   for  the  fifty-first  psalm.     The  words 


DR.  ARNOLD,  191 

that  seemed  specially  to  touch  him  were  the  twelfth 
verse :  "  O  give  me  the  comfort  of  Thy  help  again,  and 
stablish  me  with  Thy  free  spirit."  He  soon  learned 
from  the  physician  that  the  attack  would  in  all 
probability  be  fatal ;  and  the  strength  of  his  faith 
was  proved  by  the  untroubled  calm  with  which  he 
heard  the  sentence.  He  made  no  affectation  of  in- 
difference to  pain;  but  while  acknowledging  that  it 
was  acute,  he  said  to  his  son,  "  My  son,  thank  God  for 
me."  That  was  his  feeling.  All  was  well,  and  he 
had  only  to  give  thanks.  Within  two  hours  from  his 
first  seizure  he  was  dead.  But  he  left  hundreds  of 
the  living  who  still  "  thank  God  for  him." 

Henky  C.  Ewart. 


EDWARD    IRVING. 


'  Tlie  good  man  suffers  but  to  gain, 
And  every  virtue  springs  from  pain, 
As  aromatic  plants  bestow 
No  spicy  fragrance  while  they  grow. 
But  crush'd  or  trodden  to  the  ground, 
Diffuse  their  balmy  sweets  around." 

Goldsmith. 


EDWARD    IRVING. 


[XTY,  or  so,  years  ago,  Edward  Irving  was  the 
popular  preacher  of  London.  Crowds  of  all 
ranks  flocked  to  his  little  church  in  Hatton 
Garden,  and  everywhere  the  wonderful  force 
of  his  passionate  eloquence  was  greatly 
admired.  But  time  had  almost  effaced  the 
memory  of  his  work  until  Mr.  Carlyle's  "  Eeminiscences  " 
once  more  reawakened  interest  in  the  story  of  his  life. 
Fragmentary  and  desultory  although  the  Eeminiscences 
necessarily  are,  they  vividly  recall  one  of  the  warmest- 
and  biggest-hearted  men  the  century  has  seen.  As 
youthful  companion  and  self-denying  friend,  no  one 
shines  more  conspicuously  in  Carlyle's  pages. 

Strange  and  sad  was  the  close  of  his  career,  but  the 
whole  impulse  of  his  earlier  years,  and  the  disinterested 
devotion  that  marked  his  life  to  the  end,  well  deserved 


196  EDWARD  IRVING. 

the  noble  eulogium  pronounced  upon  him,  when  Carlyle 
wrote,  "  His  was  the  freest,  brotherliest,  bravest  human 
soul  mine  ever  came  in  contact  with." 

In  some  respects  he  came  before  his  time.  Fifty 
years  later  his  warm-hearted  eagerness  would  have 
been  better  appreciated,  his  eccentricities  would  have 
been  understood  and  allowed  for,  and  he  would  not 
have  been  pushed  into  positions  which  ultimately  in- 
volved such  painful  issues.  Much  of  his  work,  there- 
fore, may  seem  to  have  missed  its  mark,  and  the 
inconsistencies  or  eccentricities  of  his  career  may  be 
easier  to  perpetuate  than  the  nobler  qualities  of  his 
head  and  heart.  ISTevertheless,  he  well  deserves  a  place 
among  the  leaders  of  our  time. 

He  was  a  great  individual.  His  splendid  figure  at  once 
commanded  notice  ;  and  beneath  it  his  big  heart  was 
ever  overflowing  with  human  tenderness  and  sympathy. 
Wherever  he  went  men  felt  the  spell  of  his  genius. 
The  radical  weavers  of  the  Glasgow  Gallowgate,  as  he 
moved  among  their  squalid  homes,  with  a  solemn 
"  Peace  be  to  this  house,"  and  the  eminent  London 
statesman,  who  heard  of  him  casting  the  orphans  on 
the  "great  Fatherhood  of  God,"  all  felt  that  he  was 
no  common  man,  but  one  who,  for  all,  had  a  message 
to  their  hearts. 

To  his  own  times  he  spoke  with  peculiar  aptness 
and  power.  For  just  when  men's  minds  were  awaken- 
ing to  an  impatient  distrust  of  forms  and  dogmas,  and 
when  political  changes  were  filling  so  large  a  space  in 
public  attention,  with  great  power  and  persistency  he 


EDWARD  IRVING,  197 

called  them  back  to  the  great  trath  that  underlies  all 
human  effort  and  progress.  With  us  the  Fatherhood 
of  God  has  become  so  ever  present  a  conviction  that  we 
are  apt  to  forget  or  undervalue  the  vast  revolution 
wrought  in  religious  opinion  from  the  time  when  church 
systems  and  teaching  all  tended  to  obscure  this  great 
truth : — to  keep  the  divine  more  remote  and  terrible ;  to 
dwell  on  God's  power  and  His  justice,  the  fixedness  of 
His  decrees,  and  the  majesty  of  His  sovereignty,  rather 
than  the  tenderness  of  his  Fatherhood.  Equally  great 
was  the  service  Irving  rendered  in  unfolding  the  doctrine 
of  Christ's  humanity,  and  in  stripping  off  it  the  incrusta- 
tions of  theological  system  and  metaphysical  refinement. 
Eemembering  how  large  a  place  in  our  later  literature 
is  filled  by  works  on  the  human  life  of  our  Lord,  we 
readily  see  what  a  notable  imjjulse  to  progress  was  thus 
given  by  the  popular  preacher. 

When,  on  the  other  hand,  in  his  zeal  for  greater 
insight  into  the  workings  of  God's  spirit,  and  his  ardent 
desire  for  the  more  immediate  displays  of  its  power  in 
the  modern  church,  we  find  his  openness  to  conviction 
degenerating  into  mere  credulity,  and  see  him  carried 
away  with  the  frenzied  excitement  that  a  special  chain 
of  circumstances  had  gathered  around  him,  we  can  but 
deplore  his  misguided  simplicity,  and  bewail  the  sad 
period  of  suffering  and  disappointment  that  clouded 
the  close  of  his  noble  career,  the  integrity  of  which  no 
one  now  ventures  to  question. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  ever  memorable 
your,    1792,   that    Edward    Irving   \vas   born,   in   the 


198  EDWARD  TRYING, 

quiet   little  town  of   Amian   in    Dumfriesshire,     His 
father    was    but    a    humble   tanner,    his    mother    the 
handsome    and    high-spirited    daughter     of    a    small 
landed    proprietor    in    a    neighbouring    parish.       Like 
most    Scotch    children,    he   was    laid    in    a    wooden 
cradle,  thence  to  make  his  first  survey  of  the  outer 
world  ;  but,  unlike  most,  he  was  allowed  to  concentrate 
all  his  baby  powers  of  vision  into  one  eye,  while  the 
powers  of  the  other  were  hopelessly  obscured  by  the 
side  of  the  cradle.      So,  said  ingenious  friends,  was  our 
hero  forced  to  bear  through  life  the  vulgar  obliquity  of 
a  squint.      Soon  he  was  stammering  over  his  syllables 
in    the    humble    school    of    "Peggy    Paine."     Annan 
Academy  came  next,  where  his  friend  and  companion 
Carlyle  soon  afterwards  followed  him,  and  then  he  was 
ready  for  his  college  studies.     Love  of  outdoor  exercise 
was   an  early  passion.     Already  he  was  distinguished 
for  feats  of  walking,  swimming,  rowing,  and  climbing. 
But  religious  matters  were  not  wholly  repugnant  to  the 
young  athlete ;  for  at  this  early  period  of  his  life,  it 
was  his  occasional  habit  to  walk  five  or  six  miles  to 
the  little  village  of   Ecclefechan,  in  company  with  a 
pilgrim  band  of  the  religious  patriarchs  of  Annan,  to 
attend  a  church  established  there  by  one  of  the  earlier 
bodies  of  seceders  from  the  Church  of  Scotland. 

Entering  Edinburgh  University  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
his  college  career  was  like  that  of  most  Scotch  students  ; 
winters  of  hard  study,  homely  fare  and  scanty 
accommodation,  summers  back  at  home  with  pedestrian 
tours  and  desultory  reading.     After  taking  his  degree, 


EDWARD  IRVING.  199 

and  one  session  at  the  Divinity  Hall,  he  became 
teacher  of  the  Mathematical  School  at  Haddington. 
A  buoyant  and  handsome  youth,  he  won  the  hearts  as 
well  as  quickened  the  intellects  of  liis  pupils,  and  moved 
through  the  town  a  w^elcome  guest  in  its  happy  homes. 
What  could  form  a  brigliter  picture  than  to  see,  on 
a  summer  evening,  the  tall  and  nimble  teacher,  accom- 
panied by  some  of  his  pupils,  start  off  for  St.  George's, 
Edinburgh,  and  after  hearing  Chalmers,  then  rising  into 
fame,  cheerfully  w^alk  back  again,  a  distance  in  all  of 
thirty-five  miles.  A  favourite  pupil  of  his  here  was 
Jane  Welsh,  afterwards  famous  as  the  wife  of  his 
friend  Thomas  Carlyle. 

After  two  years  at  Haddington,  Irving  was  promoted 
to  teach  a  newly  established  Academy  in  "the  lang 
toon  0'  Kirkcaldy."  Here  he  taught  with  a  will 
(sometimes  thrashed  rather  vigorously)  and  always  won 
the  affection  of  his  pupils.  While  here  he  completed 
his  studies  at  the  Divinity  Hall  and  was  licensed  to 
preach  by  tlie  presbytery  of  Kirkcaldy;  but  his  first 
efforts  as  a  preacher  were  not  very  successful.  "  He 
had  ow^er  muckle  granner"  (too  much  grandeur),  said 
the  people  of  the  "  lang  toon,"  and  for  three  years  after 
his  license  "he  lingered  in  his  schoolmaster's  desk 
silently  listening  to  other  preachers,  not  always  with 
much  edification,  noting  how  the  people,  to  whom  his 
own  '  unacceptableness '  was  apparent,  relished  the 
platitudes  of  meaner  men."* 

*  "  The  Life  of  Edwcavd  Irving."    By  Mrs.  Oliphant.    London : 
Hurst  &  Blackett.     p.  37. 


200  EDWARD  IRVING. 

In  1 8 1 8;  when  lie  had  been  seven  years  in  Kirkcaldy, 
he  finally  left  school  and  gave  up  teaching ;  and,  re- 
solving henceforward  to  devote  himself  to  his  own 
profession,  he  came  to  Edinburgh  and  took  lodgings 
there. 

"It  is  not  a  brilliant  period  in  The  young  man's 
life.  He  presents  himself  to  us  in  the  aspect  of  an 
unsuccessful  probationer,  a  figure  never  rare  in  Scot- 
land ;  a  man  upon  whom  no  sunshine  or  patronage 
shone,  and  whom  just  as  little  had  the  popular  eye 
found  out  or  fixed  upon,  whose  services  were  unsolicited 
either  by  friendly  ministers  or  vacant  congregations — 
a  man  fully  licensed  and  qualified  to  preach,  whom 
nobody  cared  to  hear.  With  the  con\'iction  strong  in 
his  mind  that  this  was  his  appointed  function  in  the 
world,  and  with  a  consciousness  of  having  pondered  the 
whole  matter  much  more  deeply  than  is  usual  with 
young  preachers,  there  rose  before  Irving  the  unmovable 
barrier  of  unsuccess ;  not  failure  ;  he  had  never  found 
means  to  try  his  powers  sufficiently  for  failure — even 
that  might  have  been  less  hard  to  bear  than  the  blank 
of  indifference  and  '  unacceptability '  which  he  had 
now  to  endure.  His  services  were  not  required  in 
the  world ;  the  profession  for  which  by  the  labours 
of  so  many  years  he  had  slowly  qualified  himself 
hung  on  his  hands,  an  idle  capability  of  which  nothing 
came."  ^ 

As  if  determined  to  have  done  with  the  past  he 

*  "  The  Life  of  Edward  Irving."    By  Mrs.  Oliphant,    London : 
Hurst  &  Blackett.     p.  42 


EDWARD  IRVING.  201 

remorselessly  burned  all  his  existing  sermons.  "  No 
doubt,"  says  Mrs.  Olipliant,  "  it  was  a  fit  and  wise 
holocaust,  sacrificing  all  his  youthful  conventionalities 
and  speculations.  Irving  at  twenty-six  began  to  com- 
pose what  he  was  to  address  to  such  imaginary  hearers 
as  he  himself  had  been  in  Kirkcaldy  Church."  Another 
session  was  passed  at  the  University,  and  he  put 
forth  all  his  powers  of  mind  and  lessons  of  experience 
upon  his  sermons,  but  in  vain.  He  was  still  the  same 
unemployed  probationer  that  had  left  Kirkcaldy.  In 
his  despondency  a  youthful  dream  returned  to  him — he 
would  become  a  missionary  after  the  Apostolic  model, 
a  man  without  scrip  or  purse  entering  into  whomsoever 
would  receive  him  and  passing  on  when  he  had  spoken 
his  message. 

It  was  while  in  this  condition  that  he  received  a 
sudden  invitation  from  Dr.  Andrew  Thomson  to  preach 
in  his  pulpit,  with  an  intimation  that  Dr.  Chalmers  was 
to  be  present,  and  was  then  in  search  of  an  assistant 
in  the  splendid  labours  he  was  beginning  in  Glasgow. 
Irving  w^ent  to  St.  George's,  Edinburgh,  with  a  new 
impulse  of  expectation  and  preached,  there  can  be  no 
doubt,  one  of  his  sermons  which  he  thought  most 
satisfactory ;  but  the  important  day  passed,  and  the 
young  man  returned  unsatisfied  to  his  lonely  lodgings. 
This  last  failure  seems  to  have  given  the  last  touch  to 
all  his  previous  discouragements,  and  at  once  he  pro- 
ceeds with  his  preparations  for  leaving  this  country. 
An  accidental  chain  of  circumstances  carried  him  into 
Ireland,  when  on  his  way  to  bid  farewell  to  Annan  and 


202  EDWARD  IRVING. 

Ills  friends  there.  On  his  return,  he  found  an  invitation 
awaiting  him  from  Dr.  Chalmers,  and  in  1 8  1 9  lie  began 
his  work  as  assistant  in  St.  John's,  Glasgow,  but  tliis  he 
did  not  do  until  he  found  that  his  services  were  not  dis- 
tasteful to  the  people.      He  would  not  be  thrust  upon 


A   GLASGOW   SLUM. 


them  by  the  mere  will  of  the  incumbent.  "I  will  preach 
to  them  if  you  think  lit,"  he  is 'reported  to  have  said, 
"  but  if  they  bear  with  my  preaching,  they  will  be  the 
first  people  who  have  borne  with  it." 

For  two  years  the  young  enthusiast  laboured 
earnestly  in  his  new  sphere.  Chalmers  was  now 
carrying  out  the  great  scheme  of  social  reform  which 
made  his  name  so  universally  famous.  But  in  the 
scheme  Irving  took  no  originating  part.     He  was  no 


EDWARD  IRVING.  203 

statesman,  and  seemed  to  feel  the  power  of  no  schemes 
other  than  his  own  untiring  labours.  Diligently  did 
he  visit  from  house  to  liousc  in  those  squalid  slums, 
winning  his  way  to  the  hearts  of  their  occupants  and 
leavingp  fragrant  memories  behind.  But  fame  in  the 
pulpit  had  still  failed  to  find  him.  AVitliin  the  great 
assembly  who  venerated  Chalmers  was  a  little  circle 
that  learned  to  look  on  Irving  with  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration ;  but  to  the  great  mass  he  w^as  simply  the 
Doctor's  assistant. 

Just  as  he  was  beginning  again  to  despond,  and  fear 
that  in  another  land  he  must  seek  a  sphere  for  his  great 
capacities,  the  clouds  broke  and  he  received  an  invitation 
to  the  Caledonian  Chapel  in  Cross  Street,  Platton  Garden, 
London.  Twice  in  succession  did  the  minister  of  the 
little  chapel  there  succumb  to  the  allurements  of  a 
country  parish  and  wend  his  way  back  to  Scotland ; 
and  now,  in  its  almost  hopeless  straits,  the  congregation 
rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  securing  the  assistant  of 
Dr.  Chalmers.  Equally  eager  was  the  young  man  to 
find  for  liimself  an  independent  sphere,  even  in  this 
obscure  little  chapel  with  its  mere  handful  of  people. 
Eeady  was  lie  to  learn  Gaelic  in  six  months,  had  the 
need  for  this  not  been  removed  ;  and  determined  to 
come  without  any  presbytery  covenant,  when  the  little 
flock  almost  failed  to  secure  the  small  pecuniary 
engagements  of  a  pastor's  settlement. 

Tlie  future  seemed  now  to  glow  before  him  with  all 
the  brightness  of  early  youth.  In  a  farewell  sermon, 
he  at  last  seemed  to  impress  his  hitherto  impassive 


204  EDWARD  IRVING, 

Glasgow  hearers ;  and,  with  a  rashness  thoroughly  con- 
sistent with  his  whole  career,  he  proclaimed  himself 
the  friend  of  all.  "  His  house,  his  services,  all  that  he 
could  do  were  freely  pledged  to  whomsoever  of  tho33 
parishoners  might  come  to  London  and  stand  in  need 
of  him ; "  a  pledge  that  did  not  fail  to  bear  fruit  in  the 
future.  To  London  he  came,  desiring  to  make  "  a 
demonstration  for  a  higher  style  of  Christianity — some- 
thing more  magnanimous,  more  heroical  than  this  age 
affects ;  God  knows,"  he  added,  "  with  what  success." 
By  degrees  the  little  chapel  began  to  fill,  when  sud- 
denly— it  was  said  to  be  after  a  reference  in  one  of 
Canning's  speeches — the  tide  of  fashion  and  nobility 
poured  into  the  chapel,  to  the  great  agitation  of  its 
office-bearers,  who  a  year  before  bewailed  desolate 
pews. 

Judged  by  the  imperfect  record  that  remains  of 
them,  one  finds  no  factitious  attractions  in  these  early 
sermons,  either  of  excitement,  vulgarity,  or  amusement. 
But,  seeing  that  men  were  drawn  by  some  sudden 
impulse  to  listen,  one  can  well  understand  their  effect 
when  uttered  with  his  burning  earnestness  and  solemn 
power — for  they  are  filled  with  the  burden  of  the 
preacher's  life ;  heart,  soul,  body,  and  spirit,  the  man 
comes  before  us  as  we  read.  Though  fashion  thus 
besieged  the  young  preacher,  he  was  not  carried  away 
with  lofty  social  ambitions.  He  was  faithful  to 
Bloomsbury,  which  his  congregation  favoured ;  and 
when  he  set  up  his  first  household  in  London,  he  went 
further  off  instead  of  nearer  to  the  world  of  fashion. 


EDWARD  IRVING.  205 

and  settled  in  Pentonville.  He  ever  lived  in  modest 
economy,  prodigal  in  nothing  but  charity. 

From  the  old  manse  at  Kirkcaldy  he  brought  up 
her  who  was  to  be  the  constant  companion  of  his  joys 
and  sorrows,  and  ere  two  years  had  passed  he  was 
called  on  to  part  with  his  first  child — a  stroke  that 
filled  him  with  a  grief,  the  intensity  of  which  can  only 
be  appreciated  by  those  who  peruse  the  outpourings  of 
his  sorrows.  More  than  any  event  of  his  life,  did  this 
influence  the  tone  and  temper  of  Irving's  future  career. 
Before  it  occurred  his  wife  had  returned  for  a  time  to 
her  home  in  Scotland,  and  during  her  absence  of  many 
weeks  Irving  continued  to  send  her  a  simple  record  of 
his  daily  doings  in  a  journal,  which  forms  one  of  the 
most  perfect  cardiplionice  the  world  has  ever  received. 
Published  in  Mrs.  OKphant's  biography,  it  has  never 
failed  to  charm  and  elevate  its  readers,  and,  did  it  stand 
alone,  would  be  sufficient  evidence  of  what  a  nobly 
true  and  tender  soul  his  was. 

His  life  in  London  is  one  long  record  of  prodigious 
toils.  Sermons,  that  in  their  mere  delivery  made  un- 
common demands  on  time  and  strength,  were  but  parts 
of  the  routine  in  his  round  of  constant  speaking,  writing, 
visiting^,  advisin^Tj.  In  all  he  seemed  to  make  a  demon- 
stration  for  a  higher  style  of  Christianity,  and  aimed  at 
an  ideal  rather  than  success  measurable  in  tangible 
results  of  men's  applause  or  agreement.  A  sermon  for 
the  London  Missionary  Society  becomes  a  three-and-a- 
half  hours'  oration,  picturing  the  ideal  missionary  with- 
out scrip  or  purse,  instead  of  a  telling  appeal  for  the 


2o5  EDWARD  IRVING. 

guineas  of  his  hearers.  The  criticisms  of  tlie  press  are 
met  with  contempt  and  defiance  ;  and  a  holiday,  granted 
from  week-day  pastoral  work  to  recruit  his  strength,  is 
used  to  perfect  his  special  acquirement  of  Spanish,  and 
to  translate  for  Enolish  readers  the  works  of  Eabbi  Ben 
Ezra,  never  resting  till  his  hands  and  eyes  were  ready 
to  fail  him.  In  his  quiet  home  the  straying  Scotchman 
or  drifting  foreigner  ever  found  a  welcome  place,  or 
gained  a  ready  answer  to  penitent  appeal. 

To  such  a  man  honours  and  fame  could  not  come 
unmixed.  Critics  were  enraged,  envious  ones  were 
embittered,  and  differences  of  view  or  opinion  became 
intensified  by  the  white  heat  in  which  he  ever  moved. 
Already  the  premonitions  of  coming  storm  were  gather- 
ing round  his  head. 

The  little  chapel  at  Cross  Street  was  still  crowded 
to  excess,  and  early  in  1827  the  congregation  moved 
to  the  splendid  church  erected  for  their  worship  in 
Eegent  Square.  But  the  crowd  that  fluctuated  in  the 
tiny  area  of  the  Caledonian  Chapel,  and  presented  the 
preacher  with  a  wonderful  moving  panorama  of  the 
great  world  without,  which  he  addressed  through  these 
thronged  and  ever-changing  faces,  settled  into  steady 
identity  in  Eegent  Square.  The  throng  ceased  in  the 
spacious  interior.  "  Fashion  went  her  idle  ways,"  says 
Carlyle ;  "  and  now  he  taught  a  congregation,  not  an 
age." 

In  1828  he  published  three  volumes  of  his  collected 
sermons,  the  first  setting  forth  the  very  heart  and 
essence  of  his  teaching,  his  lofty  exposition  of  the  Trinity, 


EDWARD  IRVING.  207 

■and  its  combined  action  in  the  redemption  of  man ; 
the  second,  his  sermons  on  the  parable  of  the  sower ; 
and  the  third,  his  views  on  national  and  public  subjects. 
His  sermons  on  the  Trinity  were  uttered  to  an 
audience  unaware  of  any  error  in  them,  and  by  special 
desire  of  his  ofnce-bearers  were  placed  first  in  the 
volumes.  But  there  were  other  eyes  watching  his 
lofty  career  into  Divine  mysteries.  "  An  idle  clergy- 
man," says  his  biographer,  "called  Cole — of  whom 
nobody  seems  to  know  anything,  but  that  he  suddenly 
appeared  out  of  darkness  to  do  his  ignoble  office, 
heard  by  the  wind  of  rumour  of  what  appeared  to 
him  '  a  new  doctrine  ' — that  the  preacher  had  declared 
the  human  nature  of  our  Saviour  to  be  identical  with 
all  human  nature,  truly  and  in  actual  verity  the  seed 
of  Abraham  "  ;  and,  alarmed  thereby,  sought  to  save  the 
ark  of  truth  and  spare  the  Church  from  the  spread  of 
pestilent  heresy.  Eeturning  rather  late  on  a  Sunday 
evening,  he  stepped  into  Eegent  Square,  and  had  his 
suspicions  confirmed  by  the  morsel  of  the  sermon  he  was 
in  time  to  hear.  Keen  in  his  pursuit  of  the  new  dis- 
temper, Mr.  Cole  sought  and  obtained  immediately 
after  a  hurried  interview  with  the  wearied  preacher 
and  then  went  away  to  level  at  him  the  serious  charge 
of  heresy. 

With  simple  straightforward  openness,  Irving  flinched 
not,  but  sought  to  make  more  plain  and  exact  his  posi- 
tion ;  not  simply  to  justify  himself,  but  to  preserve  for 
the  Cliurch  and  his  fellows  the  sure  comfort  and 
strength-giving  powers  of  this  doctrine.     "At  first  I 


233  EDWARD  IRVING. 

thought  it  better  to  sit  quiet  and  bear  the  reproach. 
When,  however,  I  perceived  that  this  error  was  taking 
form,  and  that  the  Church  was  coming  into  peril  of 
believing  that  Christ  had  no  temptations  in  the  flesh 
to  contend  with  and  overcome,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to 
intercalate  in  the  volume  on  the  Incarnation  a  sermon 
(ISTo.  III.),  showing  out  the  truth  in  a  more  exact  and 
argumentative  form,  directed  specially  against  the  error 
that  our  Lord  took  human  nature  in  its  creation  and 
not  in  its  fallen  state.  And  another  (No.  VI.),  show- 
ing the  most  grave  and  weighty  conclusions  flowing 
from  the  true  doctrine,  that  He  came  under  the  condi- 
tions of  our  fallen  state  in  order  to  redeem  ns  from  the 
same.  This  is  the  true  and  faithful  account  of  the  first 
work  which  I  published  upon  the  subject."  In  all  this 
Irving  only  expresses  what  is  now  the  generally  accepted 
belief.  Not  so  thought  the  presbyters  of  Irving's  time ; 
and  after  a  long  and  chequered  controversy,  he  with- 
drew from  the  authority  of  the  Presbytery  of  London, 
and  appealed  to  that  of  Annan,  which  had  first 
ordained  him  a  minister.  He  was  finally  tried  in 
the  last  year  but  one  of  his  life,  and  in  the  town  of 
his  birth.  After  a  brave  and  true-hearted  defence,  one 
of  the  greatest  ornaments  the  Scottish  Church  has  ever 
had  was  solemnly  deposed  from  her  ministry  and 
membership,  and  driven  from  her  fold.  No  doubt  these 
men  acted  according  to  their  light ;  but  that  they  com- 
mitted a  grievous  blunder  who  will  now  dispute  ? 

In  thus  following  out  to  the  final  issue  the  doctrinal 
heresy  charged  against  Irving,  we  have  passed  by  the 


EDWARD    IRVING. 
From  an  Engraving  in  the  Vestrv  of  Regent  Sqjia7-e  ChiircJ:- 


EDWARD  IRVIi\G,  211 

more  notorious  chain  of  events  that  gathered  round  his 
closing  years.  To  anxious  presbyters  the  removal  of 
unsound  teaching  on  our  Lord's  humanity  may  have 
seemed  of  paramount  importance.  By  the  multitude 
it  was  soon  forgotten,  when  they  v/ere  startled  by  the 
sudden  outburst  of  Pentecostal  wonders  in  the  grave 
assembly  of  Presbyterian  worshippers.  This  was  a 
more  noisy  movement — bulked  larger  in  outward  show  ; 
and  even  still,  when  the  name  of  Edward  Irving  is 
mentioned,  one  thinks  first  of  gifts  of  tongues  and  their 
appearance,  out  of  their  time  as  it  were,  in  the 
nineteentli  century. 

Somewhere  about  the  year  1825,  he  met,  for  the 
first  time,  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  one  Mr.  Hartley 
Prere.  Prere  v^\as  one  of  the  most  diligent  of  those 
students  of  prophecy  who  were  beginning  to  make 
themselves  known  here  and  there  over  the  country, 
and  some  years  before  had  published  a  new  scheme  of 
interpretation,  for  which  he  had  failed  to  secure  the 
popular  ear.  Still,  confident  in  its  truth,  he  felt  con- 
vinced that  if  he  could  only  meet  some  man  of  open 
candid  mind,  of  popularity  sufficient  to  gain  a  hearing, 
to  whom  he  could  expound  his  system,  its  success  was 
certain.  When  he  met  Irving,  like  George  Eliot's 
Mordecai  meeting  Daniel  Deronda,  he  felt  at  once 
"  Here  is  the  man."  The  conversion  was  speedy  and 
complete. 

Henceforward  Irving  became  an  ardent  student 
in  the  fascinating  fields  of  prophetic  interpretation. 
The  gorgeous   and    cloudy  vistas   of    the   Apocalypse 


212  EDWARD  IRVING. 

becamo  to  his  fervent  eyes  a  legible  chart  of  the 
future.  Volumes  from  his  pen,  and  splendid  orations, 
wherever  he  found  a  place  of  utterance,  were  devoted 
to  the  exposition  of  these  views.  jSTaturally,  this 
introduced  him  to  a  new  circle  of  friends,  proud  to  be 
lionoured  by  such  a  name,  and  aided  by  such  an  advocate. 
The  students  of  prophecy  drew  closer  round  him  into 
gatherings  that,  but  for  the  lustre  cast  by  his  presence, 
might  never  have  emerged  from  the  obscurity  they 
deserved.  In  1826  was  held  the  first  of  those 
Albury  conferences,  that  were  continued  in  later  years, 
that  published  their  views  to  the  world  in  the  pages  of 
the  Morning  Watch,  and  afterwards  formed  the  nucleus 
of  the  Catholic  Apostolic  Church.  They  were  held  at 
the  residence  of  Mr.  Henry  Drummond,  once  described 
as  the  versatile  gentleman  who  in  his  own  person 
combined  the  diverse  functions  of  country  gentleman 
at  Albury  Park,  banker  at  Charing  Cross,  licensed 
jester  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  apostle  of  the 
Holy  Catholic  Apostolic  Church. 

About  this  time  a  period  of  religious  excitement  and 
fermentation  sprang  up  on  the  quiet  shores  of  Clydes- 
dale in  Scotland.  The  earnest  preaching  of  John 
Macleod  Campbell,  of  Row,  had  quickened  the  spiritual 
life  of  the  district.  A  little  biography  of  a  parishioner 
from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Story,  of  Eosneath,  had  flashed 
into  popularity,  and  thereby  increased  the  excitement 
and  focussed  observation  upon  it.  At  the  neighbouring 
Port  Glasgow,  Irving's  beloved  friend,  Alex.  J.  Scott, 
had  been  preaching  with  a  lil:c  success.      Particularly 


'TII^|ri]iiM||i!ip^^ 


<J 


EDWARD  IRVING.  215 

had  he  declared  his  belief  that  the  gifts  and  spiiitual 
powers  of  Apostolic  times  still  belonged  to  the 
Christian  Church,  and  that  only  a  lack  of  faith  kept 
them  back  in  modern  times.  The  excitement  increased, 
and  soon  it  was  told  that  the  gift  of  tongues  had  been 
heard  in  Eosneath,  and  a  miraculous  cure  accomplished 
at  Port  Glasgow.  Naturally,  at  the  Albury  conference 
interest  was  at  once  drawn  to  these  occurrences.  Soon 
we  find  the  gifted  one  staying  with  Mr.  Drummond, 
and  the  gift  itself  exercised  by  many  in  this  circle. 
Irving  had  been  holding  early-morning  prayer-meetings 
to  supplicate  God's  aid  for  his  friends,  Mr.  Scott, 
Mr.  Campbell,  and  Mr.  Maclean,  whose  doctrinal 
teachings  were  under  trial  at  the  bar  of  the  Scotch 
Assembly,  where  Irving's  own  teaching  might  soon  be 
challenged. 

Failing  to  gain  acquittal  for  these  men,  the  meetings 
were  continued  that  they  might  intercede  for  such 
Pentecostal  showers  as  had  visited  the  quiet  shores  of 
the  Gare-loch.  There  the  movement  had  been  some- 
what checked,  for  on  one  side  of  the  loch  Mr.  Campbell 
\^as  anxiously  considering,  to  quote  from  his  Memoirs, 
"  what  ^practical  obligation  utterances  such  as  we  were 
having,  assuming  their  divine  source,  brought  to  me  to 
justify  action  upon  them,"  and  Dr.  Story,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  loch,  was  scrutinizing  with  greater  calmness 
the  practical  outcome  of  the  movement.  To  the  warm 
impulsive  nature  of  Irving  no  such  calm  suspense  was 
possible.  In  his  early  years  he  had  found  an  ideal  of 
work  and  method  in  the  Apostolic  missionaries;    in 


2i6  EDWARD  IRVING. 

his  recent  days  he  had  been  intently  poring  over  the 
predictions  of  unfulfilled  prophecy ;  and  now  at  once 
his  heart  responded  to  this  outburst.  He  saw  in  it 
the  revival  of  Apostolic  times  and  the  fulfilment  of 
prophetic  predictions.  Wait  for  further  evidence  he 
could  not.  To  the  sober  Scotchmen  who  formed  his 
session  the  movement  came  with  a  double  perplexity. 
Their  pastor  they  loved  with  the  fulness  that  such  a 
nature  commands,  but  the  sudden  inroad  on  their 
severe  order  of  service,  the  turbulence  that  raged  about 
them,  and  the  strong  influx  of  a  new  and  not  congenial 
element  into  their  congregations,  were  by  this  love 
made  only  the  more  difficult  of  treatment. 

Eemonstrance  or  advice  was  in  vain.  "  Edward," 
said  Mrs.  William  Hamilton,  his  sister-in-law,  "  is  so 
thoroughly  convinced  in  his  own  mind,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  make  any  impression  upon  him."  "  There  is 
nothing,"  said  he  himself,  "which  I  would  not  surrender, 
even  to  my  life,  except  to  hinder  or  retard  in  any  way 
what  I  most  clearly  discern  to  be  the  work  of  God's 
Holy  Spirit."  At  length,  in  1832,  the  case  was  sub- 
mitted to  Sir  Edward  Sugden  ;  and  by  his  advice  the 
trustees  applied  to  the  Presbytery  of  London,  in  the 
manner  po'nted  out  by  their  trust  deed,  for  the  removal 
of  Irving  from  his  pastoral  charge.  From  his  co- 
presbyters  he  expected  no  favour,  for  already  he  had 
disputed  their  authority  over  his  doctrinal  teaching,  and 
on  Sunday  morning,  May  6,  1832,  he  found  the  gates 
of  Eegent  Square  Church  closed  against  him. 

One  can  scarcely  condemn  the  men  who  had  shut 


EDWARD  IRVING.  217 

him  out.  They  had  acted  with  reluctance,  they 
had  striven  to  compromise,  and  now  they  felt  com- 
pelled by  duty  to  proceed;  and  yet  one  cannot  but 
ref^ret  that  it  was  so.      The  circumstances  were  strictly 

o 

exceptional,  and  were  in  no  direct  contradiction  of  any 
special  law  of  the  Church.  In  times  of  revival,  like 
proceedings  have  been  allowed  to  proceed,  and  patiently 
watched  till  the  influences  of  time  or  reflection  have 
made  themselves  felt.  Had  it  been  so  now,  the  end  of 
Irvin(y's  life  mioht  not  have  been  so  dark  as  it  was. 
But  such,  alas  !  was  not  the  case  ;  and  no  more  was 
his  voice  heard  within  those  walls,  whose  building  he 
had  watched  with  such  anxious  care. 

With  his  followers  he  at  once  proceeded  to  a  room 
in  Gray's  Inn  Eoad,  occupied  at  other  times  by  the 
well-known  Eobert  Owen.  There  he  continued  to 
minister  for  some  months,  and  in  the  open  spaces  of 
Islington  and  Clerkenwell  Greens,  and  of  Charing 
Cross  and  elsewhere,  he  was  often  to  be  heard  preaching 
to  the  crowds,  and  sometimes  with  a  little  child  rescued 
from  the  press,  nestling  in  his  great  arms.  In  Newman 
Street  was  the  next  home  for  his  followers;  but  the 
organization  and  development  of  the  new  Church  was 
in  other  hands.  Irving  himself  had  to  stand  back, 
while  the  men  who  had  risen  into  notice  with  the  tide 
of  his  popularity,  claimed  by  the  order  of  the  Spirit 
the  right  to  direct  his  movements  and  appoint  him  his 
place. 

In  1833  he  was  summoned  before  the  Presbytery  of 
Annan,  tried  for  his  teaching  on  our  Lord's  humanity, 


2l8 


EDWARD  IRVING. 


and,    as    we   have   said,   condemned   and   declared  no 
lonf^er  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Scotland.    Once  more 


CRYPT   OF  GLASGOW   CATHEDRAL,    WITH    IKViNG'S   GRAVE. 


he  preached  in  the  villages  and  on  the  hillsides  of  his 
native  Annandale,  and  then  returned  to  Newman  Street. 
Anon  he  is  rebuked  by  the  apostles  of  his  new-fangled 


EDWARD  IRVING.  219 

Church,  and  yet  again,  in  his  broken  manhood,  he  is  by 
their  power  commissioned  as  a  prophet  to  Scotland. 
By  easy  stages  he  passes  onwards  till  he  reaches  the 
scene  of  his  early  labours,  the  city  of  Glasgow,  and 
there,  a  few  weeks  later,  he  was  laid  in  the  crypt  of  the 
cathedral,  one  of  Scotland's  noblest  sons. 

He  had  liad  to  wait  many  years  ere  a  fitting  field 
offered  for  makinor  his  desired  demonstration  for  a 
higher  style  of  Christianity,  and  in  the  mid-day  of  his 
life,  while  loyal  to  the  call  of  conscience,  an  unsus- 
pected train  of  circumstances  dashed  him  from  his 
place  of  honour  into  a  dark  night  of  sadness  and  gloom. 
From  that  darkness  rise  the  lines  of  a  Church,  which 
in  its  gorgeous  ritual  and  mediaeval  practices  shows 
little  of  his  spirit  whose  downfall  gave  it  birth.  Yet 
his  was  not  a  life  in  vain.  Xo  man,  no  child,  ever  met 
the  warm  glance  of  his  eye,  or  heard  the  kind  accents 
of  his  blessing,  but  treasured  the  memory  ever  after, 
and  in  the  impulse  which  he  gave  to  larger  views  of 
God's  love  and  deeper  faith  in  the  present  power  of  his 
spirit,  the  century  received  a  benefit  it  cannot  well 
over-estimate. 

Norman  J.  Eoss. 


v^i-:i 


NORMAN    MACLEOD, 


"Courage,  brother  !    do  not  stumble, 
Though  thy  path  be  dark  as  night  ; 
There's  a  star  to  guide  the  humble— 

'  Trust  in  God  and  do  the  right.' 
ThiOugh  the  road  be  long  and  dreary, 

And  the  end  be  out  of  sight  ; 
Foot  it  bravely;  strong  or  \veary — 
'  Trust  in  God  and  do  the  right.'  " 

Norman  Macleod. 


NORMAN    MACLEOD. 


OKMAN  MACLEOD  was  bom  in  Campbel- 
town on  the  3rd  of  June,  1812.  His  father 
was  then  parish  minister  in  the  pretty  little 
town  built  by  the  great  Marquis  of  Argyll  as 
a  refuge  for  the  persecuted  Whigs  of  Ayr- 
shire, whose  descendants— Colvilles,  Beitlis, 
and  Greenlees — are  now  the  thriving  distillers  of  a  spirit 
only  too  well  known  everywhere.  The  Macleods  were  a 
clerical  family,  like  the  Moncrieffs,  Bonars,  and  Burnses, 
who  have  all  given  three  or  f(jur  generations  to  the 
Scotch  Kirk ;  and  the  old  stock  is  still  as  fruitful  as  ever 
it  was.  His  fatlier,  too,  had  come  out  of  a  manse  away 
north  in  Ossian's  country  of  Morven  in  Argyll,  whose 
hills  and  lochs  and  weird  mists,  and  not  less  its  kindly 
poor  folk,  with  all  their  Celtic  poetry  of  superstition,  aro 


224  NORMAN  MACLEOD, 

now   well   known    to    the    readers   of    "A   Highland 
Parish."* 

It  is  a  pleasant  home  the  Scottish  manse,  and 
a  good  lot  to  be  born  in  it.  The  rectory  or  vicarage 
is  associated  in  the  English  mind  with  winter  flannels 
and  soups  and  wines  for  the  poor,  and  with  cultivated, 
well-to-do  families  whose  natural  place  is  among 
the  gentry.  In  Scotland,  the  manse  seems  to  belong 
more  to  the  people ;  though  quite  as  kindly,  it  is  not 
so  patronising  as  the  rectory.  Its  sons  mingle  with 
the  sons  of  farmers  and  cottars  at  the  parish  school ; 
yet  the  lessening  of  social  distance  does  not  lessen 
respect.  I  suspect  that,  in  an  English  parish,  the 
rectory  is  not  of  so  much  consequence  as  the  squire's 
house ;  but  the  minister  is  more  to  the  Scottish 
people  than  the  laird  is,  because  he  has  done  far 
more  for  their  liberty  and  civilization.  Those  who 
have  lovingly  studied  our  history,  too,  find  that  an 
unusually  large  proportion  of  those  who  have  done  the 
nation  highest  service  as  judges,  statesmen,  and  soldiers, 
have  come  out  of  the  manse. 

The  following  passage  from  Dr.  Donald  Macleod's 
interesting  biography  of  his  brother  graphically  describes 
the  scene  of  their  earliest  years  : — 

"  Campbeltown  lies  at  the  head  of  a  loch  which  runs 
for  two  miles  into  the  long  promontory  of  Kintyre,  and 
not  far  from  its  southern  termination.  The  loch  forms 
a  splendid  harbour.     The  high  island  of  Davar,  thrown 

*  "Reminiscences  of  a  Highland  Parish."  By  Korman 
Macleod,  D.D.    London  :  C.  Burnet  &  Co. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  22$ 

out  like  a  sentinel  from  the  hills,  and  connected  with 
the  shore  on  one  side  by  a  natural  mole  of  gravel,  pro- 
tects it  from  every  wind ;  while,  from  its  position  near 
the  stormy  Mull,  whose  precipices  breast  the  full  swing 
of  the  Atlantic,  it  affords  a  secure  haven  to  ships  that 
have  rounded  that  dreaded  headland.  The  external 
aspect  of  the  town  is  very  much  like  that  of  any  other 
Scotch  seaport — a  central  cluster  of  streets,  with  one  or 
two  plain  churches  lifting  their  square  shoulders  above 
the  other  houses,  a  quny,  a  lean  steeple,  the  chimneys 
of  some  distilleries,  thinner  rows  of  whitewashed  houses 
stretching  round  the  '  Lochend,'  and  breaking  up  into 
detached  villas  buried  in  woods  and  shrubberies.  The 
bay  of  Campbeltown  is,  however,  both  picturesque  and 
lively. 

"  Cultured  fields  clothe  the  slopes  of  hills,  whose  tops 
are  purple  with  heather,  and  beyond  which  ranges  of 
hio-her  mountains  lift  their  rou^h  heads.  There  are 
fine  glimpses,  too,  of  coast  scenery,  especially  to  the  south, 
where  the  headlands  of  Kilkerran  fall  steeply  into  the  sea. 
But  the  bay  forms  the  true  scene  of  interest,  as  it  is  the 
rendezvous  of  hundreds  of  fishing-smacks  and  wherries. 
There  is  the  continual  movement  on  its  waters — the 
flapping  and  filling  of  the  brown  sails,  the  shouts  of  the 
men,  and  the  '  whirr '  of  the  chain-cable  as  an  anchor 
is  dropped,  keep  the  port  constantly  astir.  Larger 
vessels  are  also  perpetually  coming  and  going — storm 
stayed  merchant  ships,  smaller  craft  engaged  in  coast 
traffic,  graceful  yachts,  and  revenue  cruisers. 

"Four  or  five  miles  off,  on  the  western  side  of  the  low 


226  Norman  macleod. 

isthmus  which  crosses  Kintyre  from  the  head  of  Camp- 
beltown loch,  lies  another  bay,  in  marked  contrast  to  this 
sheltered  harbour.  There  the  long  crescent  of  Mach- 
rahanish,  girdled  by  sands  wind-tossed  into  fantastic 
hillocks,  receives  the  full  weight  of  the  Atlantic.  Woe 
to  the  luckless  vessel  caught  within  those  relentless 
laws  !  Even  in  calm  there  is  a  weird  suggestiveness  in 
the  ceaseless  moaning  of  that  surf,  like  the  breathing  of 
a  wild  beast,  and  in  that  line  of  tawny  yellow,  rimmed 
by  creaming  foam,  and  broken  with  the  black  ribs  of 
some  old  wreck  sticking  up  here  and  there  from  the 
shallows.  But  during  storm,  earth,  sea  and  sky  are 
mingled  in  a  driving  cloud  of  salt  spin-drift  and  sand, 
and  the  prolonged  roar  of  the  surge  is  carried  far  inland. 
When  the  noise  of  '  the  bay '  is  heard  by  the  comfort- 
able burgesses,  booming  over  their  town  like  a  distant 
cannonade,  they  are  reminded  how  wild  the  night  is  far 
out  on  the  ocean.  To  be  'roaring  like  the  bay'  is  their 
strongest  description  of  a  bawling  child  or  a  shouting 
scold."* 

Campbeltown,  although  English  visitors  may  consider 
it  only  a  small  village,  was  at  the  beginning  of  this 
century  remarkable  for  the  variety  of  its  interests. 
Hundreds  of  fishing-smacks  made  it  their  port  or  their 
harbour  of  refuge.  Pleasure  yachts  haunted  it.  Eevenue 
cruisers  had  their  station  there,  and  vessels  of  consider- 
able size  often  anchored  in  the  loch.  The  relation  of 
such  characteristics  of  the  place  to  the  early  develop- 

*  *'  Memoir  of  Norman  Macleod."    By  the  Kev.  Donald  Mac- 
leod, D.D.    Yol.  i.  p.  13  et  seq.    London  :  C.  Burnet  &  Co. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  227 

ment  of  Norman's  character  is  well  pointed  out  by  his 
brother : — "  He  seems  from  childhood  to  have  had  many 
of  the  characteristics  which  distinouished  him  through 
life — being  affectionate,  bright,  humorous,  and  talkative. 
His  mother,  and  that  aunt  who  was  the  friend  of  his 
earliest  as  well  as  of  his  latest  years,  remember  many 
incidents  illustrative  of  his  extreme  lovingjness  and  cease- 
less  merriment.  Another,  of  his  own  age,  relates,  as  one 
of  her  earliest  memories,  how  she  used  to  sit  among  the 
group  of  children  round  the  nursery  fire,  listening  to  the 
stories  and  talk  of  this  one  child  '  whose  tongue  never 
lay.'  When  a  boy  he  was  sent  to  the  Burgh  school,  where 
all  the  families  of  the  place,  high  and  low,  met  and 
mingled  ;  and  where,  if  he  did  not  receive  that  thorough 
classical  grounding — the  want  of  which  he  used  always 
to  lament,  justly  blaming  the  harsh  and  inefficient 
master  who  had  failed  to  impart  it — he  gained  an  in- 
sight into  character  which  served  not  only  to  give  him 
sympathy  with  all  ranks  of  life,  but  afforded  a  fund  of 
amusing  memories  which  never  lost  their  freshness. 

"  Several  of  his  boyish  companions  remained  his  fami- 
liar friends  in  after-life,  and  not  a  few  of  them  are  por- 
trayed in  his  *  Old  Lieutenant.'  Among  the  numerous 
souvenirs  he  used  to  keep,  and  which  were  found  after 
his  death  in  his  '  sanctum '  in  Glasgow,  were  little  books 
and  other  trifles  he  had  got  when  a  boy  from  these 
early  associates.  Ships  and  sailors  were  the  great 
objects  of  his  interest,  and,  contrary  to  the  wishes  of 
his  anxious  mother,  many  a  happy  hour  was  spent  on 
board  the  vessels  which  lay  at  the  pier — climbing  the 


228  NORMAN  MACLEOD, 

shrouds,  reaching  the  cross-trees  without  passing  through 
the  luhhcrs  hole,  or  in  making  himself  acquainted  with 
every  stay,  halyard,  and  spar  from  truck  to  keelson. 
His  boy  companions  were  hardy  fellows,  fond  of  adven- 
ture, and  so  thoroughly  left  to  form  their  own  acquain- 
tance that  there  was  not  a  character  in  the  place — fool 
or  fiddler,  soldier  or  sailor — whose  peculiarities  or  stories 
they  had  not  learned.  Norman,  even  as  a  boy,  seems 
thoroughly  to  have  appreciated  this  many-sided  life."  * 
But  he  also  cherished  the  memory  of  other  scenes  as 
not  less  dear  than  those  surrounding^  his  father's  house. 
When  he  was  a  boy  of  seven,  his  grandfather  was  still 
labouring  as  the  minister  of  Morven,  and  the  visits  paid 
to  this  venerable  relative  made  a  lasting  impression  on 
the  mind  of  the  child.  "  He  was,  for  example,  in  church 
on  that  Communion  Sunday  when  his  grandfather,  blind 
with  age,  was  led  by  the  hand  up  to  the  communion- 
table by  his  servant  'Eory,'  to  address  his  people  for  the 
last  time.  This  grandfather  had  been  minister  there  for 
fifty  years,  and  the  faithful  servant  who  now  took  his 
hand  had  been  with  him  since  he  had  entered  the 
manse.  It  was  then  that  touching  episode  occurred 
described  in  the  'Highland  Parish,'  when  the  old  man 
having  in  his  blindness  turned  himself  the  wrong  way, 
*  Bory,'  perceiving  the  mistake,  went  back  and  gently 
placed  him  with  his  face  to  the  congregation.  This 
picture  of  the  aged  pastor,  with  snowy  hair  falling  on 
his  shoulders,  bidding  solemn  farewell  to  a  flock  that, 
with  the  loyalty  of  the  Highland  race,  regarded  him  as 

*  "Memoir,"  &c.,  vol.  i.  p.  i8. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


229 


a  father,  was  a  scene  which  deeply  touched  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  child  in  the  manse  seat.  One,  who  was 
herself  present,  remembers  another  occasion  when  his 
grandfather,  taking  him  on  his  knee,  presented  him  with 
a  half-crown — an  enormous  sum  in  the  eyes  of  the 
child — and  then  gave  him  his  blessing.  Norman  drag- 
ging himself  off,  rushed  away  to  the  window-curtain,  in 
which  he  tightly  rolled  himself,  and  when  disentangled 
his  cheeks  were  suftused  with  tears.  The  sjoodness  of 
the  old  man  had  proved  too  much  for  his  generous 
nature."* 

A  few  years  later  the  grandfather  died,  Norman 
being  then  nearly  twelve.  Perhaps  the  bereavement 
re-awakened  his  father's  tenderness  for  tlie  Hii^diland 
speech  and  traditions. 
At  all  events  he  con- 
ceives at  this  time  a 
strom?  desire  that  Nor- 
man  should  be  familiar 
with  the  language  of 
his  forefathers,  which 
was  not  spoken  at 
Campbeltown.  Accord- 
ingly, he  sent  the  boy 
once  more  to  Morven 
to  board  for  some  time, 
first  at  the  manse  with  his  relatives,  and  then  in  the 
schoolmaster's  house.  Previously  he  had  only  been  a 
brief  visitor.  He  was  now  to  be  a  resident ;  and  the 
*  "  Memoir,"  &c.,  vol,  i.  p.  28. 


HIGHLAND   COTTAGE. 


230 


NORMAN  MACLEOD, 


change  was  considerable.  "  It  was,  indeed,  as  the  open- 
ing of  a  new  life  when,  leaving  the  little  connty  town, 
and  the  grammar  school,  and  the  lowland  playmates 

in  Campbeltown, 
he  landed  on  the 
rocky  shore  below 
the  manse  of  Mor- 
ven.  The  very 
air  was  different. 
The  puffs  of  peat- 
reek  from  the 
cottages  were  to 
him  redolent  of 
Highland  warmth 
and  romantic 
childish  associa- 
tions. There  was 
not  a  boatman, 
from  old  '  Eory  '  down  to  the  betarred  fislier-boy,  not  a 
shepherd,  or  herd,  or  cottar,  not  a  dairymaid  or  hen- 
wife,  but  gave  him  a  welcome,  and  tried  to  make  his  life 
happier. 

"  The  manse,  full  of  kind  aunts  and  uncles,  seemed 
to  him  a  paradise  which  the  demon  of  selfishness  had 
never  entered.  And  then  there  was  the  wakening 
sense  of  the  grand  in  scenery,  nourished  almost  uncon- 
sciously by  the  presence  of  those  silent  mountains,  with 
their  endless  ridges  of  brown  heather ;  or  by  the  dark 
glen  roaring  with  cataracts  that  fell  into  fairy  pools, 
fringed  with  plumage  of  ferns,  and  screened  by  netted 


HIGHLAND   EOAT. 


NORMAN  MA  CLEOD,  231 

roof  of  hazel  and  oak ;  or  by  many  an  hour  spent  upon 
the  shore-land,  with  its  infinite  variety  of  breaking 
surge  and  rocky  bays,  rich  in  seaweeds  and  darting  fish. 
But,  above  all,  there  was  the  elastic  joy  of  an  open-air 
life,  with  the  excitement  of  fishing  and  boating,  and 
such  stirring  events  as  sheep-shearing  or  a  'harvest- 
home,'  with  the  fuD  of  a  hearty  house,  whose  laughter 


"A   BUT  AND   A   BEN.' 

was  kept  ever  alive  by  such  wits  as  Galium,  the  fool,  or 
bare-footed  Lachlan." 

Samuel  Cameron,  the  schoolmaster,  could  not  off^r 
many  indoor  attractions ;  but  the  life  with  him  had 
some  special  sources  of  interest.  "  The  house  was  not  a 
large  one — a  thatched  cottage  with  a  hut  and  a  &g?i,,and, 
a  little  room  between, Jormed  the  accommodation;  but 


232  NORMAN  MACLEOD, 

every  evening,  except  when  the  boys  were  fishing  cod- 
ling from  the  rocks,  or  playing  '  shinty '  in  the  autumn 
twilight,  there  gathered  round  the  hearth,  heaped  high 
with  glowing  peat,  a  happy  group,  who,  with  Gaelic 
.songs  and  stories,  and  tunes  played  on  the  sweet 
'  trump '  or  Jew's  harp,  made  the  little  kitchen  bright 
as  a  drawing-room ;  for  there  was  a  culture  in  the  very 
peasantry  of  the  Highlands,  not  to  say  in  the  house  of 
such  a  schoolmaster  as  good  as  Mr.  Cameron,  such  as 
few  countries  could  boast  of.  There  was  an  innate 
breeding,  and  a  store  of  tradition  and  poetry,  of  song 
and  anecdote,  which  gave  a  peculiar  flavour  to  their 
common  life ;  so  that  the  long  evenings  in  this  snug 
cottage,  when  the  spinning-wheel  was  humming,  the 
women  tearing  and  carding  wool,  the  boys  dressing  flies 
or  shaping  boats,  were  also  enlivened  by  wondrous 
stories  of  old  times,  or  by  '  lilts '  full  of  a  weird  and 
plaintive  beauty,  like  the  wild  note  of  a  sea-bird,  or  by 
a  'Port-a-Beul'  or  'a  Walking  Song,'  to  the  tune  of 
which  all  joined  hands  as  they  sent  the  merry  chorus 
round."  * 

The  minister  of  Campbeltown — a  Norman,  like  his 
father  and  eldest  son — the  name  seems  to  indicate  the 
Norse  origin  of  the  family — was  an  able  man,  and  a 
popular  preacher,  especially  dear  to  the  Highlanders  as 
one  of  the  best  Gaelic  scliolars  of  his  time.  But  in 
Scotland  good  preachers  are  seldom  left  long  in  such 
out-of-the-way  nooks  as  Cantyre.  They  soon  get  talked 
about,  and  are  asked  to  "  help  "  at  communion  seasons, 
*  "Memoir,"  &c.,  vol.  i.  p.  23,  &c. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


233 


wliicli  happen  only  twice  a  year,  and  are  therefore 
great  days,  particularly  in  the  Highlands.  Ere  long, 
therefore,  young  ISTorman  had  to  leave  the  beautiful 
little  loch,  along  whose  shores  the  Ayrshire  Whigs  have 
planted  their  distilleries,  and  builded  their  churches ;« 
and  instead  of  the  long;  roll  of  the  Atlantic  on   the 


LOOKING  WESTWARD  FROM  MORVEN. 

beach  of  ]\Iachrahanish  Bay,  the  boy  listened  to  the 
linn  as  it  tumbled  and  plunged  in  Campsie  glen.  The 
father  had  been  presented  to  that  parish,  where  after- 
wards Dr.  Eobert  Lee  spent  some  of  his  busy  scholarly 
years.  It  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Glasgow ;  and, 
with  a  growing  family  cf  boys  needing  to  be  educated, 
it  w^as  of  importance  to  be  within  reach  of  good  schools, 
such  as  were  to  be  had  there.  The  Macleods,  too,  were 
always  a  sociable  race,  more  effusive  than  the  Scottish 


234  NORMAN  MA  CLEOD. 

Celt  generally  is,  and  probably  the  elder  ISTorinan 
longed  for  more  of  the  fellowship  of  cultured  minds 
than  was  to  be  had  at  Campbeltown,  where  he  was 
likely  to  find  few  but  the  duke's  factor  and  the  "  relief" 
minister  to  exchange  thoughts  with  him.  In  the  end, 
he  migrated  to  St.  Columba's  Church,  Glasgow,  where, 
for  many  years,  he  was  a  power,  especially  among  the 
Highlanders. 

In  Glasgow,  Norman  Macleod  got  at  least  the  bookish 
part  of  his  schooling ;  but  not  a  little  of  his  actual 
mental  furniture,  certainly  the  most  fruitful  part  of  it, 
was  picked  up,  during  summer  holidays,  among  the 
trailing  mists  of  Morven,  from  shepherds  and  fishermen, 
who  all  opened  their  Highland  hearts  to  the  minister's 
bright  grandson.  In  the  college  class-room  he  held  a 
respectable  place,  though  I  fancy  he  was  better  known 
as  a  good  companion,  full  of  life  and  fun,  than  as  a 
thorough  scholar,  which  he  never  affected  to  be.  It 
was  a  class  of  quite  unusual  brilliancy ;  its  "  Grecians  " 
especially  rejoicing  the  heart  of  eloquent  Sir  Daniel 
Sandford.  Archibald  Tait  contended  with  James 
Halley,  and  the  last  was  more  than  the  first ;  but  the 
one  is  now  buried  among  the  Primates  of  all  England, 
and  the  other  in  an  untimely  grave.  James  Hamilton, 
afterwards  minister  of  Eegent's  Square  Church,  London, 
then  laid  the  foundations  of  that  ripe  and  varied  learn- 
ing which,  to  those  who  knew  him,  was  even  more 
notable  than  his  quaint  fancy  and  cheerful  piety. 
Among  such  men  it  was  something  for  Macleod  to  hold 
even  a  respectable  place,  especially  with  a  many-sided. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD,  235 

nature  like  his,  whose  best  energies  were  turned  in 
quite  other  directions,  while  theirs  were  all  concentrated 
on  their  proper  tasks.  Exact  scholarship,  however,  was 
not  in  his  way ;  still  less  the  exact  sciences ;  and  as  to 
metaphysical  studies,  I  doubt  if  he  ever  read  either 
Plato  or  Aristotle,  Hume  or  Spinoza,  till  he  dipped  into 
Jowett's  translation  of  the  first  of  these,  some  two  years 
before  his  death,  and  felt  the  world  broadening  about 
him.  He  was  always,  indeed,  a  great  reader ;  though 
how  he  found  the  time,  with  all  his  labours  and  wan- 
derings, it  was  hard  to  see.  But  his  reading  was 
chiefly  of  the  miscellaneous  kind,  having,  however,  a 
deeper  purpose  than  pastime ;  and  it  found  character 
and  unity  from  a  powerful  mind  which  could  order  and 
utilize  what,  in  a  weaker  brain,  would  have  been  a  mere 
gathering  of  odds  and  ends. 

At  the  close  of  the  undergraduate  course,  he  spent 
some  time  in  Germany,  not  at  a  university,  for  that  old 
custom  of  Scottish  students  had  not  then  been  revived, 
as  it  has  lately  been  to  the  great  advantage  of  theo- 
logical thought  among  us ;  but  as  travelling  tutor  to  a 
young  Englishman,  with  whom  he  lived  for  a  season 
at  Weimar,  and  saw  somewhat  of  the  court  not  long 
before  brightened  by  the  presence  of  Goethe  and 
Schiller  and  Herder.  With  this  gentleman  he  also 
visited  the  northern  countries  of  Europe,  and  doubtless 
fostered  that  taste  for  travel  which  clung  to  him  as 
long  as  he  lived.  But  his  winters  were  chiefly  passed  in 
Edinburgh,  where  Chalmers  was  now  firing  young 
clerical  aspirants  with  Evangelical  fervour  rather  than 


236  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

theolodcal  zeal.  Macleod  was  a  favourite  student  of 
his,  as  we  can  well  suppose,  the  two  big,  kindly,  cheery 
human  hearts  naturally  IcytMiig  together. 

But  if  not  previously  inclined  to  the  study  of  syste- 
matic divinity,  certainly  he  would  not  be  led  to  it  in 
Chalmers'  class-room.  That  great  man — greatest  of 
modern  Scotchmen — had  a  few  leading  principles  which 
lie  drove  home  with  monotonously  repeated  strokes,  as 
of  hammer  on  anvil,  explaining  and  illustrating  and 
enforcing  them  with  infinite  brilliancy  of  imagination 
and  passionate  belief.  He  had  no  turn  for  theological 
subtleties,  almost  no  patience  with  them.  But  if  he  did 
not  produce  great  divines,  he  was  fruitful  of  earnest 
preachers,  whose  intensity  and  spirituality  provided  the 
very  best  kind  of  preparation  for  the  time  of  sifting 
tliat  was  near  at  hand.  For  only  an  age,  made  ready 
by  a  deep  moral  earnestness,  may  safely  plunge  into 
questions  which,  in  so  shallow  and  frivolous  a  period 
as  the  last  century,  could  not  be  faced  without  infinite 
hazard.  A  spiritual  revival  is  necessary  to  clear  the 
way  for  a  searching  inquiry.  Now  life  was  a  grave 
and  awful  thing  to  Chalmers,  and  he  taught  his  students 
to  feel  the  mystery  and  the  earnestness  of  it. 

So  much  he  got  in  Chalmers'  class-room ;  but  that 
was  not  all.  He  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
scion  of  an  old  JSTairnshire  family,  John  Mackintosh, 
son  of  Mackintosh  of  Geddes,  who  was  then  also  study- 
ing for  the  Church ;  out  of  which  friendship  came  in 
due  time  yet  closer  relationships,  through  her  who  so 
long  brightened  his  home  and  lived  to  mourn  his  loss. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  237 

Of  course  young  Norman  Macleocl,  with  the  frank 
Norse  tongue  in  him,  and  various  Celtic  imaginations, 
had  not  long  to  wander  the  country  as  a  licentiate  on 
the  outlook  for  "probable  vacancies."  In  1838  he  was 
ordained  pastor  in  the  parish  of  Loudon,  then  a  pleasant 
rural  district,  now  honeycombed  with  mines  of  coal 
and  iron.  There  he  laboured  diligently  and  quietly  for 
some  years,  with  a  stormy  ecclesiastical  atmosphere  all 
round  him — having  his  own  thoughts,  no  doubt,  as  to 
the  part  he  himself  should  play  when  the  crisis  came. 

The  Disruption  controversy  of  1843  found  him  a 
moderate  but  firm  supporter  of  the  then  existing  rela- 
tions between  Church  and  State. 

Having  then  taken  his  place  decisively  as  a 
Churchman,  Macleod  had  naturally  many  offers  of 
promotion.  He  chose  the  parish  of  Dalkeith,  then 
supposed  to  be  a  place  of  importance  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  ducal  palace.  But  it  could  not  be  his 
abiding  place.  His  sphere  was  in  the  heart  of  a  great 
city,  where  life  was  full  and  strong.  He  needed  plenty 
to  do,  in  order  to  know  how  much  he  could  do.  In 
1 85 1,  then,  being  called  to  the  Barony  Church  of 
Glasgow,  he  finally  took  up  his  abode  there,  and 
substantially  began  the  real  work  of  his  life.  In  the 
same  year,  on  the  nth  of  August,  he  was  married  to 
Catherine  Ann  jMackintosh,  daughter  of  William 
Mackintosh,  Esq.,  of  Geddes,  and  sister  of  Norman's 
dearest  friend,  John  Mackintosh.  In  the  prime  of  life, 
tall,  handsome,  with  a  singularly  winning  expression, 
the  new  minister  of  the  Barony  Church  was  about  as 


238  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

splendid  a  human  creature  as  one  could  wish  to  look 
upon.  Latterly,  and  especially  when  his  health  began 
to  fail,  he  inclined  to  be  too  portly ;  but  in  those  days 
his  robust  form  showed  immense  power  of  work,  and 
the  Barony  was  the  very  sphere  to  put  it  to  the  proof. 

He  first  lived  in  Woodlands  Terrace,  then  at  the 
western  extremity  of  the  city.  The  house  stood  high, 
and  commanded  a  wide  prospect  from  its  upper 
windows.  The  valley  of  the  Clyde  lay  in  front,  and 
over  the  intervening  roofs  and  chimney-stacks,  his  eye 
rested  with  delight  on  the  taper  masts  of  ships  crowded 
along  the  quays.  Farther  away,  and  beyond  the  smoke 
of  the  city,  rose  the  range  of  the  Cathkin  Hills,  and 
Hurlet  Neb,  and  "Braes  of  Gleniffer"  their  slopes 
flecked  by  sun  and  shadow.  From  the  back  windows 
there  was  a  glorious  view  of  the  familiar  steeps  of 
Campsie  Fell.  The  glow  of  sunrise  or  of  sunset  on 
these  steeps  was  such  a  delight  to  him  that  often,  when 
he  had  guests,  he  made  them  follow  him  upstairs,  to 
share  his  own  enjoyment  of  the  scene. 

The  stir  and  bustle  of  the  commercial  capital  of 
Scotland  were  thoroughly  congenial  to  him.  He  loved 
Glasgow,  and  rejoiced  in  the  practical  sense,  the  enter- 
prise, and  generosity  which  characterized  its  kindly 
citizens.  The  very  noise  of  its  busy  streets  was 
pleasant  to  his  ears.  His  friends  remember  how  he 
used  to  describe  himself  sitting  in  his  study,  in  the 
quiet  of  the  winter  morning,  and  knowing  that  six 
o'clock  had  struck  by  hearing,  far  down  below  him  in 
the  valley  of  the  Clyde,  the  tliucl  of   a  great  steam- 


NORMAN  MA  CLEOD.  239 

hammer,  to  which  a  thousand  hammers,  ringing  on  a 
thousand  anvils,  at  once  replied,  telling  that  the  city 
had  awakened  to  another  day  of  labour. 

It  was  his  habit  to  rise  very  early,  and,  after  giving 
the  first  hour  to  devotion,  he  wrote  or  studied  till  break- 
fast-time.   The  forenoon  was  chiefly  employed  receiving 


NORMAN   MACLEOD. 


persons  calling  on  business  of  every  conceivable  descrip- 
tion, and  the  afternoon  was  occupied  with  parochial 
visitation,  and  other  public  duties.  When  it  was 
possible,  he  reserved  an  hour  during  the  evening  for 
the  enjoyment  of  music  or  of  reading  aloud.  Every 
Saturday  he  took  the  only  walk  of  the  week  which  had 


240  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

no  object  but  enjoyment.  The  first  part  of  tliis  walk 
usually  brouglit  him  to  John  Macleod  Campbell's  house, 
which  was  two  miles  out  of  town,  and,  with  him  as  his 
companion,  it  was  continued  into  the  country.  But  in 
whatever  direction  he  went,  the  day  seldom  ended  with- 
out his  visiting  the  Broomielaw,  where,  for  a  while,  he 
would  wander  with  delight  among  the  ships  and  sailors, 
criticizing^  hulls  and  ris^oriiicr  and  lookinsj  with  bovisli 
wonder  at  the  stranc^e  carcoes  that  were  beinf>'  discharofed 
from  the  foreim  traders. 

Few  contrasts  can  be  greater  than  that  presented  to 
the  stranger,  who,  after  gazing  at  the  hoary  magnificence 
of  Glasgow  Cathedral — the  very  embodiment  of  the 
spirit  of  reverence  and  worship — looks  across  the  street 
at  the  plain  square  pile  of  the  Barony  Church.  Yet, 
any  one  who  knows  the  work  with  the  recollection  of 
which  that  unpretending  edifice  is  associated,  will  be 
disposed  to  pardon  its  ugliness  in  consideration  of  a 
certain  sacred  interest  clin^ino^  to  its  walls.  When  he 
was  inducted  to  the  Barony,  Norman  Macleod  at  once 
recognized  his  position  as  minister,  not  only  of  the  con- 
gregation which  worshipped  there  but  of  the  enormous 
parish  (embracing  at  that  time  87,000  souls,  and  rapidly 
increasing)  of  which  this  was  the  Parish  Church. 
There  were  of  course  many  other  churches  in  the  parish  ; 
it  contained  the  usual  proportion  of  dissenting  congre- 
gations, in  addition  to  some  chapels  connected  with  the 
Church  of  Scotland.  These,  nevertheless,  were  not  only 
inadequate  to  the  requirements  of  the  population,  but 
were  unequally  distributed,  so  that  many  densely  in- 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


241 


habited  districts  were  left  Unprovided  with  either  church 
or  school.     There  were  also,  at  a  depth  reached  by  no 


EXTERIOR   OF   GLASGOW   CATIIEDIIAL. 

agency  then  existing,  those  "  lapsed  classes  "  which  form 
in   all   large   cities  the   mighty  problem  of   Christian 


242  NORMAN  MA  CLEOD, 

philantliropy.  The  spirit  animating  him  in  his  work 
is  well  illustrated  by  some  passages  from  his  Journal  of 
this  period. 

"Sunday  Morning,  Oct.  12th,  6  o'clock. — A  lovely, 
peaceful  morning,  the  atmosphere  transparent,  the  land- 
scape clear  and  pure,  with  its  white  houses,  and  fields 
and  trees. 

"  Glorious  day !  the  .only  day  on  earth  the  least  like 
heaven.  It  is  the  day  of  peace  which  follows  the  day  of 
battle  and  victory.  '  And  all  this  mighty  heart  is  lying 
still,'  the  forge  silent,  the  cotton  mill  asleep,  the 
steamers  moored,  the  carts  and  waggons  gone  to  the 
warehouse,  the  shops  closed,  man  and  beast  enjoying 
rest,  and  all  men  invited  to  seek  rest  in  God!  How 
solenm  the  thought  of  the  millions  who  will  this  day 
think  of  God,  and  pray  to  God,  and  gaze  upon  eternal 
things ;  on  sea  and  land,  in  church  and  chapel,  on 
sick  bed  and  in  crowded  congregations !  How  many 
thousands  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  will  do  this ! 
Clergy  praying  and  preaching  to  millions.  This  never 
was  the  device  of  either  man  or  devil.  If  it  was  the 
'  device  of  the  Church,'  she  is  indeed  of  God. 

"May  the  Lord  anoint  me  this  day  with  His 
Spirit!" 

"  Sat.  6  A.M. — People  talk  of  early  morning  in  the 
country  with  bleating  sheep,  singing  larks,  and  purling 
brooks.  I  prefer  that  roar  which  greets  my  ear  when  a 
thousand  hammers,  thundering  on  boilers  of  steam- 
vessels  which  are  to  b"''i.dge  the  Atlantic  or  Pacific,  usher 
in  a  new  day— the  type  of  a  new  era.     I  feel  men  are 


INTERIOR   OF  GLASGOW  CATHEDRAL. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  245 

awake  with  me,  doiDg  tlieir  work,  and  that  the  world  is 
rushing  on  to  fulfil  its  mighty  destinies,  and  that  I  must 
do  my  work,  and  fulfil  my  grand  and  glorious  end. 

"  Oh  !  To  see  the  Church  and  the  world  with  Christ's 
eyes  and  heart ! 

"  I  must  cultivate  the  habit  of  much  personal  com- 
munion with  God  during  the  day;  speaking  in  the 
spirit  to  Him  as  well  as  (or  rather  in  order  to)  living  in 
the  Spirit."* 

If  Norman  Macleod  had  been  the  happy,  easy-going 
parson  some  have  described  him,  he  would  have  settled 
down  in  his  ugly  Barony  kirk,  satisfied  with  the  routine 
of  congregational  work,  which  would  not  have  been  an 
idle  life,  either,  for  the  membership  numbered  generally 
from  eleven  to  twelve  hundred  adults.  But  he  could 
not  look  without  pity  on  the  throng  who  "  were  as 
sheep  without  a  shepherd."  Neither  did  he  regard  his 
congregation  merely  as  a  company  of  people  to  be 
preached  to,  but  rather  as  a  body  of  men  whom  he  had 
to  lead  unto  every  good  work. 

From  his  father,  and  from  his  mother,  whoin  he 
fondly  loved,  and  of  whom  the  latter  survived  him,  he 
had  received  childhood's  lessons  of  piety  and  duty. 
Troni  a  younger  brother,  James,  who  died  early  (and 
the  two  now  sleep  together  in  Campsie  cliurchyard),  he 
had  received  very  special  religious  impressions— good 
seed  which  h  id  fallen  on  "  an  honest  and  G;ood  heart." 
From  Dr.  Chalmers  he  had  caught  the  fire  of  missionary 
zeal,  which  burnt  so  brightly  in  that  brave  old  spirit. 
*  Quoted  ia  "Memoir,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  17-18. 


246  NORMAN  MA  CLEOD. 

Ere  long,  therefore,  the  parish  began  to  be  pervaded  by 
its    earnest    and    vigorous    minister.     Commonly    he 
preached  thrice   every   Sabbath,  besides   conducting  a 
large  class  of  his  own ;  and  his  preaching  was  no  mere 
stringing  together  of  theological  commonplaces,  but  the 
expression  of  earnest  thought  about  the  highest  things, 
full  of  practical  help  and  counsel  for  living  men.     Not 
what  is  often  called  ''pulpit  eloquence:"   not  simply 
the  old  clothes  of  the  seventeenth  century,  bedizened 
with  a  gold  lace  of   nineteenth-century   similes;    but 
plain,   manly,   often   even   homely    talh    about    those 
things  wliich  make  a  man's  life  great  and   earnest  and 
hopeful ;  now  flaming  out  into  indignant  rebuke  of   our 
selfishness  ;  and  by-and-by  soaring,  as  was  meet,  into 
high,  rhythmic  utterance  of  the  Divine  sacrifice  and 
love.     Once  a  week  he  presided  at  the  meeting  of  his 
Sunday-school    teachers,  carefully  going  over   the  ap- 
pointed lessons  with  them.     Bands  of  earnest  fellow- 
workers,  animated  by  the  spirit  he  diffused,  gathered 
round  him  as  their  natural  leader,  and  devoted  their 
time  and  their  means  to  mill  girls,  to  foundry  boys,  to 
savings-banks,  to  every  likely  means  for  improving  the 
condition  of  the  poor. 

rive  excellent  schools  were  built  in  as  many  needy 
localities,  at  a  cost  of  some  i,'8,ooo  or  ^^ 9,000.  Three 
mission  churches,  too,  were  erected,  all  free  of  debt,  the 
congregation  expending  on  these  about  £\  1,000.  There 
he  delighted  to  preach  to  people  who  came,  the  men  in 
their  fustian  jackets,  the  women  in  their  cotton 
"  mutches  ; "  for  all  the  well-dressed  were  excluded,  and 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


247 


respectable  persons  who  wanted  to  go,  had  to  borrow 
some  worn  and  torn  garments,  and  smuggle  themselves 
in.  I  am  told,  and  can  believe  it,  that  his  sermons  in 
the  highest  quarters  were  not  for  a  moment  comparable 
to  the  great-hearted  eloquence  of  some  of  those  working 


HIGH   STREET,    GLASGOW,    NEAR   THE   BARONY   CHURCH. 


men's  discourses.  Penny -banks  were  first  introduced 
to  Glasgow  by  him,  and  witli  them,  refreshment-rooms 
for  the  poor,  and  Saturday  evening  social  meetings. 

Nor  did  he  only  set  up  the  machinery.     He  was  its 
moving  power,  keeping  it  all  in  vigorous  and  persistent 


248  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

activiuy  by  his  presence,  and  also  making  it  work 
smoothly  by  the  oil  of  his  cheery  and  unfailing  good 
humour.  Especially  the  children  of  his  various  schools 
called  forth  his  warmest  interest,  and  some  of  his 
choicest  powers.  He  was  always  great  among  children, 
whether  singing  his  own  "  Squirrel "  or  "  Curler  "  songs 
at  the  home  fireside,  or  scratching  odd  and  clever 
caricatures,  full  of  life  and  spirit,  or  pouring  forth  the 
funniest  nonsense  to  the  Foundry  boys,  but  always 
with  a  "  gold  thread  "  running  through  it  all.  To  the 
general  world,  he  was  chiefly  known  as  a  man  of 
letters,  a  man  of  fine  gifts  and  accomplishments  :  and 
such  men  are  not  thought  to  be  the  most  efficient 
pastors.  But  in  Glasgow,  he  was  emphatically  the 
Barony  minister,  dear  to  old  and  young  for  his  good 
words  and  good  works,  ready  to  take  his  part,  v>^hich 
was  naturally  the  leading  part,  in  every  scheme  for  the 
social  or  spiritual  amelioration  of  the  people.  Cer- 
tainly, never  since  Thomas  Chalmers,  was  there  such 
a  pervading  moral  power  in  that  city  as  Norman 
Macleod. 

His  life  of  toil  was  not  without  its  well  deserved 
honours.  One  in  particular  he  enjoyed,  which  never 
l)efore  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  Scottish  minister,  except 
William  Carstairs — '.e  was  privileged  to  be  equally 
the  friend  of  his  Sjvereign  and  of  the  people.  The 
Scottish  clergy  are  not  to  be  blamed  that  only  two  of 
them  have  held  such  a  position.  Their  patriotism  had 
often  to  contend  with  their  loyalty :  and  it  is  to  their 
credit  that  they  stood  by  the  cause  of  the  people.     But 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


249 


in  these  two  cases  it  happened  fortunately  that  they 
had  Sovereigns  whose  friendship  could  be  enjoyed  along 
with  the  confidence  of  the  country,  so  that  they  became 
the  happy  medium  of  good  service  to  both. 

About  six  months  after  the  incidence  of  her  great 
sorrow  the  Queen  came  to  Balmoral,  the  scene  of  so 


BALMOKAL   CASTLE. 

'  ^      '    '^  much  domestic  happiness 

in  the  course  of  her  wedded  life.  Dr.  Mac- 
leod  entertained  a  w\arm  admiration  for  the 
deceased  Prince  Consort,  and  his  sympathy 
with  the  Queen  was  therefore  profound.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances a  summons  to  attend  upon  her  was  felt  as 
a  peculiarly  solemn  call  of  duty ;  and  his  deep  feeling 
is  clearly  manifest  in  his  letters  and  journals.  But 
the  delicacy  inspired  by  true  feeling  made  him  always 
reticent  on  the  subject  of  his  relations  with  the  Court, 


250  NORMAN  MA CLEOD. 

except  when  his  reminiscences  would  obviously  do 
good  as  well  as  give  pleasure.  Though  no  one  more 
emphatically  insisted  on  the  equality  of  all  ranks  before 
God,  he  could  not  but  recognize  a  special  responsibility 
towards  this  world  for  any  influence  he  might  exert  on 
those  in  great  place. 

*'  When  I  think,"  he  writes  in  his  journal,  "  how  the 
character  of  Princes  affects  the  history  of  the  world,  and 
how  that  character  may  possibly  be  affected  by  what  I 
say,  and  by  the  spirit  in  which  I  speak  and  act,  I  feel 
the  work  laid  upon  me  to  be  very  solemn." 

"  Your  Eoyal  Highness  knows,"  he  said  to  a  younger 
member  of  the  family,  whom  he  was  endeavouring  to 
comfort  after  the  death  of  the  Prince,  "  that  I  am  here 
as  a  pastor,  and  that  it  is  only  as  a  pastor  I  am  per- 
mitted to  address  you.  But  as  I  wish  you  to  thank  me 
when  we  meet  before  God,  so  would  I  address  you 
now." 

"  I  am  never  tempted,"  he  writes,  "  to  conceal  my 
conviction  from  the  Queen,  for  I  feel  she  sympathizes 
with  what  is  true,  and  likes  the  speaker  to  utter  the 
truth  exactly  as  he  believes  it." 

Prom  his  Journal : — 

May  8,  1862. — I  am  commanded  by  the  Queen  to 
visit  at  Balmoral  from  Saturday  till  Tuesday. 

"Pew  things  could  be  more  trying  to  me  than,  in 
present  circumstances,  to  meet  my  afflicted  Sovereign 
face  to  face.  But  God,  who  calls  me,  will  aid  me.  My 
hope  is  in  Him,  and  He  will  not  put  me  to  shame. 
May  He  guide  me  to  speak  to  her  fitting  truth  as  to  an 


NORMAN  MACLEOD, 


251 


immortal  being,  a  sister  in  humanity,  a  Queen  with 
heavy  trials  to  endure,  and  such  duties  to  perform ! 
May  I  be  kept  in  a  right  spirit,  loving,  peaceful,  truth- 
ful, wise,  and  sympathizing,  carrying  the  burthen  of  her 
who  is  my  sister  in  Christ  and  my  Sovereign  !  Father ! 
Speak  by  me ! " 


CRATHIE  CHURCH. 


To  Mrs.  Macleod : — 

Balmoral,  Ma)j  12,  1862. 

"  You  will  return  thanks  with  me  to  our  Father  in 
Heaven  for  His  mercy  and  goodness  in  having  hitherto 
most  surely  guided  me  during  this  time,  which  I  felt  to 
be  a  most  solemn  and  important  era  in  my  life.  All 
has  passed  well — that  is  to  say,  God  enabled  me  to 


252  NORMAN  MACLEOD, 

speak  in  private  and  in  public  to  the  Queen  in  sucli  a 
way  as  seemed  to  me  to  be  truth — the  truth  in  God's 
sight :  that  which  I  believed  she  needed,  though  I  felt 
it  would  be  very  trying  to  her  spirit  to  receive  it.  And 
what  fills  me  with  deepest  thanksgiving  is,  that  she  has 
received  it,  and  written  to  me  such  a  kind,  tender, 
letter  of  thanks  for  it,  which  shall  be  treasured  in  my 
hea,rt  while  I  live. 

"  Prince  Alfred  sent  for  me  last  nioht  to  see  him  before 
going  away.  Thank  God,  I  spoke  fully  and  frankly  to 
him — we  were  alone — of  his  difficulties,  temptations, 
and  of  his  father's  example ;  what  the  nation  expected 
of  him;  how,  if  he  did  God's  will,  good  and  al)le  men 
would  rally  round  him ;  how,  if  he  became  selfish,  a 
selfish  set  of  flatterers  would  truckle  to  him  and  ruin 
him,  while  caring  only  for  themselves.  He  thanked  me 
for  all  I  said,  and  wished  me  to  travel  with  him  to-day 
to  Aberdeen,  but  the  Queen  wishes  to  see  me  again.  I 
am  so  thankful  to  have  the  Duke  of  Argyll  and  my 
dear  friend  Lady  Augusta  Bruce  here.  The  Duchess  of 
Athole  also — a  most  delightful  real  woman."* 

Another  extract  from  his  Journal  of  this  period 
shows  how  he  prized  the  experiences  he  gained  in  that 
house  of  mourning  : — 

"  May  14. — Let  me  if  possible  recall  some  of  the  inci- 
dents of  these  few  days  at  Balmoral,  which  in  after  years 
I  may  read  with  interest,  when  memory  grows  dim. 

"  After  dinner  I  was  summoned  unexpectedly  to  the 

*  Journal  and  letter,  May  1862,  quoted  in  *'  Memoir,"  &c., 
vol.  ii.  p.  122. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  253 

Queen's  room.  She  was  alone.  She  met  me,  and  with 
an  unutterably  sad  expression,  which  filled  my  eyes  with 
tears,  at  once  began  to  speak  about  the  Prince.  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  recall  distinctly  the  sequence  or 
substance  of  that  long  conversation.  She  spoke  of  his 
excellencies — his  love,  his  cheerfulness,  how  he  was 
everything  to  her ;  how  all  now  on  earth  seemed  dead 
to  her.  She  said  she  never  shut  her  eyes  to  trials,  but 
liked  to  look  them  in  the  face ;  how  she  w^ould  never 
shrink  from  duty,  but  that  all  was  at  present  done 
mechanically  ;  that  her  highest  ideas  of  purity  and  love 
were  obtained  from  him,  and  that  God  could  not  be  dis- 
pleased with  her  love.  But  there  was  nothing  morbid 
in  her  grief.  I  spoke  freely  to  her  about  all  I  felt  re- 
garding him — the  love  of  the  nation  and  their  sympathy, 
and  took  every  opportunity  of  bringing  before  her  the 
reality  of  God's  love  and  sympathy,  her  noble  calling  as 
a  Queen,  the  value  of  her  life  to  the  nation,  the  blessed- 
ness of  prayer." 

It  might  seem  that,  with  all  these  duties  and  schemes, 
he  had  his  hands  already  full  enough ;  and  so,  in  truth, 
they  were.  But  the  capable  man,  seeing  that  a  piece 
of  work  has  to  be  done,  and  that  it  is  laid  to  him,  finds, 
some  way  or  other,  the  time  to  do  it.  A  nine  hours' 
day  is  no  desire  of  his.  Not  how  to  shorten,  but  how 
to  lengthen  its  working  hours,  is  the  question  with  sucli 
an  one  ;  and  I  fear  that  Norman  Macleod,  in  trying  to 
do  good  to  others,  stole  too  many  hours  from  the  night, 
to  be  altogetlier  good  for  himself.  New  work,  however, 
came  to  him,  and  he  could  not  put  it  away.     In  tlie 


254  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

Disrux^tioii  times,  when  everybody  was  writing  pam- 
phlets, he  too  had  written  one,  which  he  called  "A 
Crack  aboot  the  Kirk  " — a  racy,  rattling  production  of 
humour  and  buoyant  young  life.  Then  for  some  ten 
years  he  edited  the  Edinburgh  Christian  Magazine, 
a  periodical  of  the  old  religious  type,  doing  some  good, 
but  not  paying  its  own  way ;  heartless  work  sailing 
that  sort  of  craft,  with  half  one's  time  spent  in  baling 
out,  so  as  to  keep  her  afloat. 

At  length,  in  i860,  he  found  his  sphere  in  letters. 
In  an  article  in  the  Contemporary  Review  we  were  told 
how  it  was  desired  to  realize  Arnold's  wish  for  a  perio- 
dical that  should  not  be  a  religious  one,  and  yet  should 
have  a  religious  spirit ;  how,  beating  about  for  an  editor, 
the  enterprising  publisher  chanced  to  read,  in  the 
Scotsman  newspaper,  the  report  of  a  chat  on  "  Cock- 
Eobin  "  with  some  Ayrshire  children  ;  and  how,  finally, 
Macleod  consented  to  be  captain  of  the  new  adventure. 
Ooocl  Words,  "  worth  much  and  costing  little  " — a  maga- 
zine meant  for  every  day,  and  for  everybody — neither 
clerical,  nor  critical,  nor  scientific,  but  broadly  human, 
and  in  spirit  Christian — this  exactly  suited  Macleod's 
character.  He  had  a  considerable  literary  acquaintance, 
and  he  could  count  on  willing  help  from  such  men  as 
Stanley,  Kingsley  and  Trollope,  and  with  his  own 
ready  pen  and  varied  stores  of  humour  and  pathos, 
and  solid  thought,  the  success  of  the  undertaking  was 
certain  in  the  long-run.  Of  course  it  had  a  period  of 
up-hill  work.  It  met  even  with  some  bitter  and  un- 
generous criticism.     But,  at  length,  wherever  Euglish 


NORMAN  MACLEOD.  255 

speaking  men  and  women  lived,  its  name  became  an 
"  open  sesame  "  to  the  wise  and  genial  editor. 

In  Good  Words  his  chief  contributions  to  literature 
appeared,  all  except  his  life  of  John  Mackintosh,  "  The 
Earnest  Student,"  which  is  perhaps  the  most  artistically 
finished  of  them  all.     Our  readers,  therefore,  must  be 
familiar  with  those  bright  sketches  of  nature  and  human 
nature  which  were  among  the  first  things  the  paper- 
cutter  hurried  to  on  the  monthly  appearance  of  the 
welcome  brown  cover.     "  Wee  Davie,"  it  has  been  said, 
was  his  own  favourite,  and  its  exquisite  pathos  has, 
perhaps,   made  this   the  general  verdict,   though  the 
humour  of  "  Billy  Buttons "  shows  a  still  finer  touch, 
and  is  a  fit  rival  to  Bret  Harte's  "Luck  of  Eoaring 
Camp."     But  I  know  that  he  reckoned  "  The  Starling," 
of  all  his  books,  the  one  most  likely  to  perpetuate  his 
name,  having  cost  him  far  more  labour  of  thought  than 
the  others.     Whether  he  was  right  in  this  estimate  the 
future  will  tell.     None  of  his  other  tales  are  so  finished. 
They  seem  rather  to  have  been  thrown  off  at  a  heat — 
simple,   artless,   and  natural ;  and,  indeed,   tliey   were 
most  of  them  not  even  the  fruits  of  a  busy  leisure,  but 
booty   snatched  from   the   hours   of   sleep.     They    all 
indeed  contain  some  gleam  of  rich  humour,  or  some 
pathetic  stroke ;  or,  at  the   very   least,  some   ray   of, 
kindly  wisdom  to  cheer  our  way  of  life.     On  the  w^hole 
my   favourite   is  the  "  Keminiscences   of   a   Highland 
Parish."     It   is   fragmentary,   but   fresh,  natural,    and 
true ;  just  the  kind  of  work  which  could  be  best  done 
under  such  conditions  as  were  imposed  upon  him. 


256  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

But  none  of   his    books  give    any  tiling  like   a  full 
idea  of  the  man's  real  greatness.     There  are  men  wlio 
have  written  remarkable  books,  but  whose  personality, 
when  you  come  to  know  them,  is  extremely  common- 
place.    Their  literary  power  is  a  knack,  but  they  are 
quite  ordinary  men.      It   was  the  very  reverse   with 
Macleod.       What    his    literary    faculty    might    have 
been  had  he  devoted  himself  exclusively  .to  its  cultiva- 
tion, it  were  hard  to  say.     As  it  is,  no  one  would  have 
been   more  ready  than  he  to  admit  the  sketchy,  un- 
finished character  of  nearly  all  he  has  written.     Even 
his  preaching,  great  as  it  was,  hardly  gave  a  sufficient 
conception    of    him,    though    some    of     his    platform 
speeches    came    nearer   to   doing  so.     It  was   in  the 
freedom  of  his  private   and    familiar  intercourse  with 
one  or  two  friends  that  we  felt  what  a  power  he  was. 
For    he    was    essentially    a    talker,    and,    without     a 
Boswell,  will  be  almost  as  much  lost  to  the  world  as 
Johnson  would  have  been.     It  was  when  seated  with 
him  in  the  queer  little  outhouse,  which   had   been  a 
laundry,  I  think,  and  which  he  turned  into  a  study, 
that  one  came  to  know  him  right,  and   to  comprehend 
what  varied  spiritual  forces  were  in  him,  what  insight 
into  things  which  his  pen  seldom  touched,  what   scorn 
of  all  baseness,  what  love    for  all  that   is   noble    and 
pure  and  true,  and  what  boundless   capacity  for  any- 
thinp-  he  mio'ht  have  to  do.      In   those  hours   of  nn- 
restraint    and   confidence,   even    amid  the   flow   of    a 
humour  which  he  indulged  and  relished  as  a  lark  does 
its  singing,  you  might  hear  the  deep  undertone   of  a 


NORMAN  MACLEOD, 


^Vl 


spirit  that  knew  the  hiirden  of  the  mystery,  and  along 
with  that,  the  wonder  and  the  joy  and  the  stirring 
eloquence  of  a  faith  which  dwelt  in  the  Father  with 
"  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding." 

He  was  not  a  man  to  "  wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve." 
But  those  who  were  privileged  to  spend  a  few  even- 


THE  BACK  STUDY, 


in^s  in  that  little  "  sanctum  "  will  not  soon  forget  the 
impression  they  left— that  this  was  one  of  the  greatest 
and  truest  of  men.  There  was  always  some  good 
story  of  Scottish  humour,  and  plenty  of  hearty  laugh- 
ter ;  for  he  was  a  great  laugher,  not  with  the  mouth 
only,  but,  as  it  were,  all  over,  every  hit  of  him  heaving 
with  honest,  genial  mirth.     But  always,  too,  one  came 

U 


258  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

away  with  some  grave  and  earnest  thought,  which  rose 
uppermost  and  remained  long  after  the  good  jokes  had 
done  their  turn  and  passed  away. 

The  very  last  time  I  was  there,  only  a  few  days 
before  the  illness  that  carried  him  off,  after  a  pleasant 
half -hour  or  so,  he  dropped  into  this  more  serious  vein ; 
speaking  of  the  difhculties  of  a  true  spiritual  life,  and 
the  shame  and  self- contempt  he  felt  at  the  poverty  of 
his  spiritual  character  ;  yet  it  was  rich,  tliough  he  called 
it  "  all  rubbish."  Then,  alluding  to  the  changing  tone  of 
religious  thought,  he  told  me  how  he  had  shrunk  from 
it  at  first — how,  even  when  the  light  had  loosened 
many  of  his  early  opinions,  so  that  they  hung  like  an 
avalanche,  ready  to  be  precipitated  by  a  touch  or  the 
sound  of  a  voice,  yet  he  had  avoided  all  utterance  of 
the  thought  that  w^as  in  him  until  he  had  proven  the 
new  light  by  its  moral  influence.  And  then  he  added, 
"  I  can  quiet  my  dear  old  mother's  anxiety,  when  I 
show  her  that  it  is  more  agreeable  to  Scripture,  and 
that  it  also  makes  me  a  humbler  and  a  better  man, 
helps  me  to  hate  evil  more,  and  to  live  nearer  God.  I 
never  feel  safe  on  mere  intellectual  ground.  I  cannot 
follow  logic,  unless  the  life  goes  with  it."  That  was 
the  substance  of  our  last  conversation ;  and  it  will  be 
ever  a  pleasant  memory  to  me.  The  man  had  not  yet 
attained,  neither  was  already  perfect ;  but  he  w^as 
reacliing  forth  and  pressing  on  to  the  mark  for  the 
prize  of  his  high  calling. 

"It  was  not,"  writes  one  who  knew  him  well,  "in 
the  fire  and  animation  of  his  platform  addresses,  nor 


NORMAN  MA  CLEOD.  259 

yet  in  the  fervid  outpourings  of  his  heart  from  the 
pulpit,  that  one  came  to  know  how  deeply  grounded 
was  his  whole  life  and  action  on  a  childlike  faith  and 
trust  in  God :  it  was  when  alone  with  him  in  his 
study,  when  the  heart  gave  utterance  as  it  willed,  and 
free  from  all  restraint.  To  be  with  him  then  was  to 
learn  a  lesson  which  no  public  teaching,  whether  by 
voice  or  pen,  could  ever  have  given.  How  naturally 
did  all  his  thoughts  seem  to  take  tone  and  colour  from 
that  one  pervading  influence !  How  he  taught  me — 
as  he  taught  many,  whose  happiest  fortune  it  has  been 
to  share  now  and  again  in  these  quiet  hours  —  that  all 
of  the  bright  and  beautiful  in  life,  all  that  could 
gladden  the  spirit  and  cheer  the  heart,  gained  yet  a 
brighter  tint  in  the  light  reflected  from  a  Father's  love ; 
that  mirth  became  more  deej^,  and  so  much  more  real ; 
that  each  good  gift  became  more  cherished  from  the 
recognition  of  the  great  Giver  of  all ! 

And  here  truly,  it  has  seemed  to  me,  did  he  especially 
prove  himself  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  For  was  it  not 
a  Gospel  to  many,  who  might  else,  not  improbably,  have 
turned  away  from  thoughts  of  any  such  things,  to  learn — 
not  from  direct  teaching,  but  from  their  own  experience 
of  an  actual  life — that  there  was  a  faith  and  trust  which 
could  imbue  every  sense  of  enjoyment  with  fresh  keen- 
ness of  perception  and  zest  of  participation ;  that  only 
through  such  a  faith  and  trust  could  pleasure  reach  its 
highest  realization,  and  all  that  was  best,  and  brightest, 
and  happiest  in  our  nature  obtain  its  true  development. 
Nothing  was   more  strange  to  me  at  first — nothing 


26o  NORMAN  MACLEOD. 

came  to  be  accepted  by  me  as  more  natural  afterwards 
— than  tlie  constant  evidence  which  each  opportunity 
of  private  intercourse  with  this  great,  large-hearted, 
noble-minded  man  afforded  me  of  the  deep  under- 
current in  his  thoughts  and  life.  I  never  knew  him, 
in  all  my  meetings  with  him,  force  a  reference  to 
reli2:ious  thought  or  feelincr.  I  never  was  with  him 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that  his  confidential  talk,  how- 
ever conversational,  however  humorous  even,  had  not, 
as  it  were  of  itself  and  as  of  necessity,  disclosed  the 
centre  round  which  his  whole  life  revolved." 

In  his  varied  labours  the  years  flowed  happily  on ; 
for  he  enjoyed  life  greatly,  and  with  a  thankful  heart. 
He  knew  it  would  have  its  crosses  without  his  manu- 
facturing them  for  himself.  So  he  enjoyed  his 
occasional  visits  to  London  literary  society,  and  still 
more,  his  pleasant  retirements  to  the  Highlands  — 
fishing  with  his  boys,  and  singing  away  the  summer 
twilights  with  his  girls.  Above  all,  he  enjoyed  travel- 
ling to  new  countries,  and  thus,  by  converse  with 
strange  forms  of  life,  broadening  his  Christian  charity, 
and  intensifying  his  Christian  piety. 

I  remember  well  with  what  glee  he  prepared  for  his 
visit  to  Palestine,  from  whicli  he  hoped  much,  and, 
unlike  most  pilgrims  thither,  was  not  disappointed.  I 
met  him  one  day  just  before  he  started.  "  Come  along," 
he  said,  *'  I  want  to  buy  a  lot  of  squibs  and  rockets 
and  Eoman  candles.  They  say  I  must  take  pistols 
and  a  revolver.  But  that's  nonsense,  you  know.  So, 
if  these  beggars  of  Arabs  want  to  kill  me,  I  mean  to 


NORMAN  MACLEOD, 


261 


let  off  my  fireworks,  and  they'll  swear  I'm  the  biggest 
magic-man  since  Solomon."  I  forget  what  came  of  the 
fireworks ;  but  he  was  as  gleesome  as  a  boy  at  the 
idea  of  walking  in  perfect  peace  with  a  rocket  for  a 
staff,  while  his  companion  was  miserably  fingering  a 
revolver. 


THE  MASTER   OF  THE  HORSE   IN   PALESTINE. 
(From  a  Sketch  by  Norman  Macleod.) 

His  journey  to  India  was  a  different  matter.  By  that 
time  his  health  was  seriously  affected,  and  many  of  his 
friends  doubted  whether  he  was  fit  for  the  task.  He  him- 
self was  quite  aware  of  the  risk  he  ran.  But  his  heart 
was  in  the  work.  The  Indian  mission  was  very  dear 
to  him;  and  the  love  of  travel,  too,  was  still  strong 
within  him.  He  wanted  to  see  the  wonderful  "  tombs 
and  temples,  and  fakirs,  and  cross-legged,  goggle-eyed 


262  NORMAN  MACLEOD, 

gods  at  home ;  nor  would  he  object  to  the  glimpse  of  a 
tiger  in  the  jungle ;  only  he  did  not  like  those  ugly- 
headed  cobras — nearly  as  ugly  as  the  Barony  Kirk." 
Anyhow,  a  soldier,  he  added, "  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  danger,  but  only  to  think  of  the  duty."  Alas !  the 
danger  proved  to  be  more  serious  than  he  imagined. 
He  was  never  the  same  man  after  that  Indian  journey. 
He  came  back,  indeed,  with  a  deepened  interest  in  the 
mission,  and  a  stronger  hope  of  its  final  success.  He 
came  back,  to  plunge  into  new  and  exliausting  efforts 
to  revive  the  mission  zeal  of  the  Church,  and  replenish 
the  streams  of  its  liberality.  But  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing of  disappointment  and  sorrow  that  he  went  up  to 
the  last  Assembly  to  give  in  his  final  report,  and  to 
deliver  the  great  speech  which  was  to  be  his  last  word 
of  counsel  to  the  Church — a  brave  and  a  wise  word, 
whether  we  heed  it  or  not. 

A  life  so  public  as  his  could  not  well  be  without  its 
disagreeables,  though,  to  say  the  truth,  they  were  not 
many.  Dean  Stanley  seems  to  think  that  he  had  a 
kind  of  natural  archbishopric  in  the  Kirk  of  Scotland ; 
yet  the  Dean  might  have  known  that  mitres  do  not 
always  light  on  the  wisest  or  noblest  heads.  He  was 
loyal  to  the  Church  of  Scotland,  but  knew  that  a  still 
deeper  loyalty  was  due  to  the  Church  Catholic.  He 
was  not  very  careful  about  the  prim  decorums  of 
clerical  manners,  and  this  of  course  displeased  those 
who  but  for  such  decorums  would  have  been  "found 
out."  He  walked  in  wisdom  toward  "  them  that  are 
Y/ithout,"  and  had  a  good  report  of  them^  but  to  the 


NORMAN  MACLEOD,  263 

same  extent  he  was  distrusted  by  many  of  his  brethren. 
He  had  great  influence  in  the  country,  but  many 
smaller  men  had  more  "  say "  in  the  councils  of  the 
Church. 

Indeed,  but  for  the  hold  he  had  on  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  I  doubt  whether  he  would  not  have 
been  sharply  dealt  with  in  the  matter  of  his  famous 
speech  about  the  Decalogue  *  The  business  is  hardly 
worth  remembering  now,  but  at  the  time  it  was  a 
source  of  keen  pain  to  him.  He  knew  that  his  view 
did  not  accord  with  that  of  many  of  his  brethren,  or 
perhaps  with  general  Scottish  sentiment  at  the  time. 
He  was  prepared  for  opposition,  therefore,  and  went  to 
the  Presbytery  with  the  light  of  battle  in  his  ejes, 
constrained  by  a  sense  of  stern  duty.  But  he  hardly 
imao-ined  that  a  mere  formal  abrogjation  of  the  Deca- 
logue,  with  the  view  of  introducing  a  higher  principle 
of  law,  would  be  regarded  as  an  opening  of  the  flood- 
gates to  licensed  immorality. 

I  thought  at  the  time,  and  think  still,  that  he 
unwisely  narrowed  his  ground,  appearing  to  select 
for  abolition  only  the  best  part  of  a  system  which 
was  all  disannulled  by  the  Gospel.  But  there  was 
no  calm,  thoughtful  discussion  of  the  matter  possible 
at  the  time.  He  felt  keenly  the  alienation  of  old 
friends,  and  the  unfair  abuse  and  misrepresentation  to 
which  he  was  subjected;  nor  was  he  greatly  com- 
forted  by   the    approval    which    he    won    in    certain 

*  The  discussion  referred  specially  to  the  Fourth  Command- 
ijient,  a,nd  the  d.uty  of  Christians, ia  regard  to  the  Sa.bbatb, 


264  NORMAN  MA CLEOD, 

quarters.  For  tlie  Lord's- day  was  as  dear  to  him  as  to 
any  man.  He  only  wanted  it  to  be  shifted  from  a 
Jewish  foundation,  and  placed  on  a  Christian  one,  with 
the  light  of  Christian  beneficence  shining  on  all  its 
arrangements.  The  result  was  altogetlier  good  in  the 
long-run,  turning  men's  minds  away  from  compulsory 
Sabbatism  to  the  great  principle  that  "the  Sabbath 
was  made  for  man."  Happily,  too,  the  storm  was  soon 
spent,  and  ere  long  the  Church,  which  had  been  on 
the  point  of  trying  him  for  heresy,  chose  him  to  fill 
the  chair,  which  is  the  highest  honour  it  has  to 
bestow. 

I  have  tried  to  describe  Norman  Macleod  as  I  knew 
him  ;  but  those  who  knew  him  as  well,  will  best  under- 
stand how  far  I  have  come  short  of  the  reality.  Always 
bright  and  cheery,  even  when  one  knew  he  had  his 
own  burden  to  bear;  always  in  very  earnest,  even 
when  he  seemed  to  play  and  trifle  in  the  wantonness 
of  his  gay  humour;  always  ready  with  a  wise  or 
witty  saying,  even  though  you  only  passed  him 
hurriedly  on  the  street  in  a  shower  of  rain  ;  always 
interested  in  some  one  or  other,  for  I  think  I  hardly 
ever  met  him  that  he  had  not  some  "  case  "  in  hand — 
some  poor  human  brother,  about  whom  he  had  many 
thoughts  and  took  no  end  of  trouble ;  always  busy  in 
some  good  work  or  "  Good  Word  " — death  came  upon 
him  while  he  was  still  in  fullest  sympathy  with  the 
great  life  that  stirred  around  him,  and  full  of  hope  for 
its  progress,  and  doing  his  full  share  of  its  task ;  and 
so  happily  he  did  not  live  an  hour  beyond  his  use- 


NORMAN  MACLEOD. 


265 


fulness.  On  Sunday,  the  i6th  of  June,  he  fell 
asleep ;  "  burdened,"  he  said,  ''  with  a  sense  of  God's 
mercy,"  and  leaving  to  the  heavenly  Father's  care  a 
widow  with  eight  children.  He  sleeps  in  Campsie 
Churchyard,  near  the  glen  where  he  watched  as  a  boy 
the  "  squirrel  in  the  old  beech-tree,"  and  learned  from 
his  brother  James  to   "  teust  in  God,  and  do  the 

RIGHT." 

Walter  C.  Smith. 


NORMAN  MACLEOD  S  GRAVE  AT  CAMPSIE, 


'I'HOMAs    c;[;'rm;ii 


The  young  lambs  are  bleating  in  the  meadows, 

The  young  birds  are  chirping  in  the  nest, 
The  young  fawns  are  playing  with  tlie  shadows, 

The  young  flowers  are  blowing  toward  the  west^ 
But  the  young,  young  children,  O  my  brothers, 

They  are  weeping  bitterly  ! 
Tiiey  are  weeping  in  the  playtime  of  the  others, 

In  the  country  of  the  free." 

E.  B.  Browning. 


THOMAS   GUTHRIE. 


.HOMAS  GUTHEIE,  one  of  the  most  clis- 
tinguislied  men  of  his  time  as  a  preacher,  a 
philanthropist,  a  platform  orator,  a  humorist, 
and  a  popular  writer,  was  horn  at  Brechin, 
in  tlie  county  of  Forfar,  on  the  1 7th  of  July, 
1803.  His  father  and  his  family  were  in 
the  middle  rank  of  life,  homely, 'honest,  and  industrious, 
to  whom  every  day  brought  its  share  of  hard  work,  and 
every  night  its  tale  of  "  something  attempted,  some- 
thing done."  The  blood  of  the  martyrs  was  in  his  veins, 
and  he  was  proud  of  it.  His  father,  a  worthy  Christian 
citizen,  was  provost  of  the  burgh,  a  man  of  business 
in  whom  all  men  had  confidence.  His  mother,  who 
was  of  seceder  origin,  and  who  continued  to  worship 
in  a  secession  meeting-house,  was  a  woman  of  great 
devoutness    and    decision    of    character,  most  careful 


270  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

in  the  religious  training  of  her  family,  and,  like 
many  such  mothers,  respected  and  honoured  by  her 
children,  especially  as  they  came  to  know  the  world 
and  to  estimate  the  value  of  her  example  and  in- 
fluence. 

Thomas  Guthrie  was  the  youngest  but  one  of  thirteen 
children :  a  bustling  stirring  house  it  was,  in  which 
nothing  could  have  been  more  out  of  place  than  senti- 
mental fancies  or  morbid  moods.  The  family  was 
brought  up  pre-eminently  in  the  fear  of  God ;  the 
traditions  of  the  old  Scottish  religion  prevailed  in  the 
hearts  of  the  parents,  and  in  accordance  with  them 
their  children  were  reared.  Yet  there  was  a  free 
and  healthy  air  in  the  house,  very  favourable  to  the 
due  development  of  character.  Thomas  Guthrie  was 
substantially  a  product  of  the  old  Scottish  school  of 
Christian  nurture,  and,  though  in  after  life  his  views 
enlarged  on  many  points,  and  intercourse  with  men  of 
various  sorts  was  ever  teachino;  him  new  lessons  of 
charity  and  toleration,  his  convictions  in  religion  con- 
tinued to  the  last  to  be  essentially  those  of  his  parents, 
and  of  that  great  evangelical  school  to  which  they  so 
cordially  adhered. 

It  does  not  appear  that  Guthrie,  at  any  period  of  his 
youth,  passed  through  any  such  obvious  spiritual  change 
as  might  be  termed  conversion;  rather  he  was  one  of 
those  who,  under  the  constant  influence  of  Christian 
nurture  and  example,  are  drawn  gently  and  almost 
imperceptibly  into  the  way  of  life.  Neither  does  he 
seem  to  have  been  led  to  think  of  the  ministry  as  his 


THOMAS  GUTHRTE, 


271 


life  work  through  the  sheer  force  of  an  inward  call ; 
his  parents  appear  to  have  made  up  their  minds  that  he 
was  to  be  a  minister,  and  to  have  brought  him  up  under 
that  impression.     But  if  his  first  inclination  in  that 


BRECHIN   CATHEDRAL, 


direction  did  not  spring  from  the  highest  considerations, 
no  man  ever  came,  when  he  undertook  the  work,  to 
have  a  deeper  sense  of  responsibility  for  it ;  nor  did 
any  minister  ever  labour  with  deeper  sincerity  or  more 
unwearied  diligence  to  realize  the  highest  ends  of  the 


-/^ 


THOMAS  GUTHR1£. 


ministry — the  bringing  in  and  building  up  of  souls  in 
the  Kinofdom  of  God. 

Xot  much  needs  to  be  said  here  of  Guthrie's  school 
and  college  life — the  latter  passed  at  the  University  of 
Edinburgli.  He  was  far  too  young  to  profit  sufficiently 
by  university  training.  At  the  close  of  his  undergraduate 
course,  he  passed  through  the  divinity  curriculum,  and 
became  a  licentiate  of  the  Church  of  Scotland.  Then 
he  spent  some  time  in  the  study  of  medicine,  first  at 
Edinburgh  and  afterwards  at  Paris.  JSTo  opening  pre- 
senting itself  into  the  ministry,  he  accepted  a  temporary 
bertli,  in  room  of  a  brother,  in  a  bank  at  Brechin. 
At  last,  after  five  years'  waiting,  came  a  presentation 
to  the  parish  of  Arbirlot,  not  far  from  his  native  town. 
The  sphere  w^as  greatly  to  his  mind.  To  quote  his  own 
description  of  it  in  the  Sunday  Magaziiu :  "  Arbirlot 
hung  on  a  slope  that  gently  declined  to  the  sandy 
shores  of  the  German  Ocean.  There  was  wood  enough 
to  ornament  the  landscape,  but  not  to  intercept  the 
fresh  breezes,  that  curling  and  cresting  the  waves,  blew 
landward  from  the  sea,  or  swept  down  seaward  from 
heights  loaded  with  the  fragrance  of  mown  hay,  or 
blooming  beanfields,  or  moors  golden  with  the  flowers 
of  the  gorse."  It  was  a  purely  agricultural  parish, 
with  a  population  of  about  a  thousand,  so  well  educated 
that  but  one  grown-up  person  could  not  read,  so  regular 
in  religious  duty  that  but  one  person  did  not  attend 
church,  and  so  free  from  intemperance  that  the  one 
public-house  depended  chiefly  for  its  customers  on  the 
neighbouring  town.'    "The  moral  aspects  were  much 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 


273 


in  harmony  with  the  physical,  of  a  scene  where  the  fields 
yielded  abundant  harvests,  and  the  air,  loaded  with  the 
fragrant  perfume  of  flowers,  rang  to  the  song  of  larks 
and  woodland  birds,  and  long  lines  of  breakers  gleamed 
and  boomed  upon  the  shore,  and  ships  with  white  sails 
flecked  the  blue  ocean,  and  the  Bell  Eock  tower  stood 
on  its  rim  to  shoot  cheerful  beams   athwart  the  doom 


ARBIRLOT   CHURCH. 


of  night,  a  type  of  that  church  which,  our  guide  to  the 
desired  haven,  is  founded  on  a  rock,  and  fearless  of  the 
rage  of  storms." 

It  was  in  the  early  days  of  the  evangelical  revival 
that  Guthrie  was  settled  in  Arbirlot ;  in  the  ardour  of 
his  evangelical  zeal,  he  threw  his  whole  soul  into  his 
parochial  duties,  giving  the  first  place  to  his  work  in  the 
pulpit,  but  striving  by  classes  and  libraries,  and  house- 
to-house  visitation,  and  every  other  available  means,  to 
rouse  and  edify  the  people.      Hating  all  formality  and 

s 


274  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

routine,  he  sought  to  get  into  close  contact  with  the 
minds  and  souls  of  his  hearers ;  and  finding  tliat 
the  part  of  his  sermons  which  seemed  to  impress  them 
most  was  the  illustration,  he  determined  to  make  that  a 
specialty,  and  use  it  abundantly  in  his  sermons.  It  was 
a  happy  thought — the  result  of  a  combination  of  instinct 
and  intellect,  of  genius  and  common  sense.  Illustration 
became  his  great  weapon,  and  a  right  useful  one  it  was. 
It  suited  liis  poetical  temperament,  and  became  a  ready 
handmaid  to  his  ever  ardent  sympathy.  Listen  to  Dr. 
Hanna,  who  for  many  years  was  his  colleague,  and, 
though  cast  in  a  very  different  mould,  a  most  apprecia- 
tive critic.  After  dwelling  on  his  intense  power  of 
sympatliy  as  one  element  of  his  preaching  power,  he 
thus  writes  of  his  illustrations :  "  Another  element  of 
power  lay  in  the  peculiar  character  of  tlie  imagery  and 
illustrations  of  which  he  made  such  copious  use.  It 
has  been  remarked  by  all  w^ho  liave  passed  a  critical 
judgment  of  any  vahie  upon  his  attributes  as  a 
preacher,  that  his  chief,  if  not  exclusiv^e,  instrument 
of  power  was  illustration.  In  listening  to  him  scenes 
and  images  passed  in  almost  unbroken  succession  before 
the  eye,  always  apposite,  often  singularly  picturesque 
and  graphic,  frequently  most  tenderly  pathetic.  But 
it  was  neither  their  number  nor  their  variety  which 
explained  the  fact  that  they  were  all  and  so  universally 
effective.  It  was  the  common  character  they  possessed 
of  being  perfectly  plain  and  simple,  drawn  from  quarters 
with  which  all  were  familiar ;  few  of  them  from  books, 
none  of  them  from  '  the  depths  of  the  inner  conscious- 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  27^ 

ness/  supplied  by  ingenious  mental  analysis ;  almost 
all  of  them  taken  from  sights  of  Nature  or  incidents  of 
human  life — the  sea,  the  storm,  the  shipwreck,  the 
beacon-light,  the  lifeboat,  the  family  wrapped  in  sleep, 
the  midnight  conflagration,  the  child  at  the  window 
above,  a  parent's  arms  held  up  below,  and  the  child  told 
to  leap  and  trust.  There  was  much  of  true  poetry  in 
the  series  of  images  so  presented  ;  but  it  was  poetry  of 
a  kind  that  needed  no  interpreter,  required  no  effort 
either  to  understand  or  appreciate,  which  appealed 
directly  to  the  eye  and  heart  of  our  common  humanity, 
of  which  all  kinds  and  classes  of  people,  and  that  almost 
equally,  saw  the  beauty  and  felt  the  power.  This  showed 
itself  unmistakably  in  the  singular — we  miglit  even 
say — the  wholly  unique  character  of  the  afternoon 
audiences  of  Free  St.  John's.  Of  almost  all  other 
popular  preachers  it  has  been  true,  if  they  have  occu- 
pied the  same  pulpit  continuously  for  ten  or  twenty 
years,  that  the  crowds  which  they  at  first  attracted 
have  at  last  diminished,  and  that  the  fixed  congrega- 
tion which  remained  took  its  distinct  hue  and  form 
from  that  of  the  ministry  which  had  permanently 
attached  them  to  itself ;  the  latter  indeed  a  thing 
realized  in  the  case  of  every  city  clergyman  of  any  con- 
siderable pulpit  power.  But  neither  of  the  two  things 
was  true  of  Dr.  Guthrie;  the  crowds  continued  un- 
diminished to  the  last.  A  few  years  after  he  came  to 
Edinburgh  the  prediction  was  a  common  one,  that  the 
fountain  of  imagery  upon  which  he  drew  so  largely  and 
was  so  dependent,  was  sure,  ere  long,  to  fail,  and  his 


276  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

popularity  to  fade  away.  He  lived  to  prove  that  his 
own  peculiar  vein  was  one  too  deep  to  be  exhausted, 
too  fertile  to  become  barren — one  that  could  be  con- 
stantly replenished;  and  that  bountifully  repaid  the 
hand  of  the  cultivator.  It  was  as  little  true  that  you 
could  stop  or  dry  up  the  spring  of  story-telliug  in 
Dickens  or  in  Scott  as  you  could  that  of  his  own  form 
and  kind  of  illustration  in  Dr.  Guthrie.  ISTot  even  the 
icy  fingers  of  death  could  do  it.  How  touching  so  near 
the  close  to  see  him  hold  up  the  mirror  to  the  features 
which  those  fingers  were  fashioning  for  the  tomb,  say- 
ing that  he  was  doing  as  the  sailor  did  who  climbed  to 
the  masthead  to  try  if  he  could  see  land !  How  touch- 
ing as  sight  began  to  fail,  and  things  look  dim,  confused 
around,  to  hear  him  compare  it  to  the  '  land  birds 
lighting  on  the  mast  presaging  to  the  weary  mariner 
the  nearness  of  his  desired  haven  ! '  It  was  the  ruling 
faculty  strong  in  death.  It  was  to  the  unfailingness  of 
that  faculty  that  he  owed  his  sustained  popularity  as  a 
preacher." 

Before  the  end  of  his  seven  years  incumbency  in 
Arbirlot,  Guthrie  had  begun  to  be  talked  about  as 
an  extraordinary  man.  Edinburgh  was  then  the  great 
field  to  which  brilliant  preachers  were  sought  to 
be  transplanted.  The  history  of  Guthrie's  removal  to 
Edinburgh  was  somewhat  remarkable.  He  himself  was 
not  very  willing  to  go,  and  the  vacant  congregation  was 
by  no  means  very  unanimous  or  very  cordial  in  desiring 
him ;  yet  go  he  did,  and  three  Sundays  had  not  passed 
before  the  church,  passages  and  all,  was  crowded  to  the 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


277 


door ;  and  up  to  the  very  last  time  when  he  preached 
his  church  continued  to  present  the  same  remarkable 
appearance. 

It  was  an  excellent  friend  of  the  church,  Mr. 
Alexander  Dunlop,  advocate  (afterwards  Mr.  Murray 
Dunlop,  M.P.),  that  was  the  means  of  his  removing  to 


AKBIKLOT  MANSE. 


Edinburgh.  In  1837  there  occurred  a  vacancy  in  tlio 
Old  Greyfriars'  Church,  the  patronage  of  which,  as  of 
the  other  city  churches,  then  belonged  to  the  Town 
Council,  and  Dunlop  was  bent  on  getting  the  appoint- 
ment for  Guthrie.  Of  course  he  must  first  get  his 
consent  to  stand.  And  if  Mr.  Dunlop  had  now  simply 
asked  him  to  be  nominated  for  Old  Greyfriars,  he  would 
have  simply  refused.     He  was  a  man  of  the  people, 


278  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

and  his  heart  was  with  the  people,  and  he  believed  that 
his  abilities  were  more  for  the  masses  than  the  classes; 
and  Old  Grey  friars — had  it  not  been  the  church  of 
Principal  Eobertson  and  Dr.  Ersldne  and  Dr.  Inglis  ? 
Had  not  old  AValter  Scott  sat  in  its  pews,  and  young 
AValter  listened  to  the  ministrations  of  which  he  had 
given  so  vivid  an  account  in  "  Guy  Mannering  ?  "  It 
would  require  a  man  of  no  ordinary  calibre  to  stand  in 
such  a  pulpit  and  instruct  the  congregation  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  who  sat  before  it.  Whatever  might  be 
true  of  others,  Arbirlot  was  better  for  him,  and  he  was 
better  for  Arbirlot,  than  old  Grey  friars. 

But  Mr.  Dunlop,  a  skilful  lawyer,  knew  how  to 
angle.  Knowing  his  preference  for  a  poor  parish,  he 
unfolded  a  scheme,  the  effect  of  which  on  his  friend 
he  could  calculate  full  well.  The  friends  of  the  church 
were  going  to  get  Old  Greyfriars  uncollegiated  and  to 
build  a  new  church  in  the  Cowgate,  or  near  it.  There 
they  would  plant  the  second  minister  of  the  Greyfriars, 
and  try  wliat  the  parochial  system,  thoroughly  worked 
under  Evangelical  auspices,  could  do  for  the  most 
degraded  portion  of  Edinburgh.  On  June  15,  1837, 
Mr.  Dunlop  wrote  in  these  terms  to  the  minister  of 
Arbirlot.  Here,  as  the  minister  himself  would  have 
said  was  a  dainty  dish  to  set  before  a  king.  The 
savour  of  it  pleased  him  well.  He  was  thinking  about 
it  when  the  bells  of  Arbroath  were  ringing  in  the  new 
queen  of  England.  On  June  29  he  wrote  to  his 
Edinburgh  friend,  that  he  had  almost  made  up  liis 
mind  to  accept  if  elected.     Mr.  Dunlop  pressed  the 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  279 

town  council.  The  vote  was  in  favour  of  Guthrie; 
and  on  September  2 1  following,  he  was  inducted  as 
one  of  the  ministers  of  the  Greyfriars. 

Many  a  man  would  say  that  only  a  hypocrite  or  a 
lunatic  could  have  really  preferred  a  charge  in  the 
Cowgate  to  an  educated,  well-to-do  congregation. 
Guthrie  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  He  had 
a  moderate  estimate  of  his  abilities,  and  he  did 
not  know  then  that  the  gifts  of  fancy  and  feeling, 
which  were  his  special  capital,  were  equally  popular 
with  hic^h  and  low.     But  that  was  not  all.     He  had 

o 

grown  up  under  the  rising  tide  of  the  Evangelical  re- 
vival, and  with  an  unbounded  faith  in  the  power  of 
the  gospel  to  raise  men  from  the  lowest  depths  and 
turn  the  wilderness  into  a  garden.  The  enthusiasm 
of  Chalmers  had  roused  a  kindred  enthusiasm,  both  as 
to  the  power  of  the  gospel  over  the  masses  and  the 
incomparable  excellence  of  the  aggressive  method  and 
the  parochial  machinery.  No  chill  of  disappointment 
had  yet  begun  to  abate  the  boundless  expectations 
with  which  ardent  minds  were  filled  under  the  visions 
of  Chalmers.  Only  let  his  schemes  be  carried  fully 
out,  and  something  like  the  millenium  was  at  hand. 
Guthrie  shared  this  glowing  hope,  and  looked  on 
the  Cowgate  as  but  the  dark  background  that  would 
bring  out  more  clearly  the  glory  of  the  coming 
transformation. 

It  was,  no  doubt,  with  feelings  of  this  sort  in  their 
minds  that  Chalmers  and  Guthrie,  one  dull  autumn 
day  in   183  7,  had  a  casual  meeting  which  was  thus 


28o  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

described  by  the  latter  in  one  of  his  papers  in  the 
Sunday  Magazine — "  Sketches  of  the  Cowgate."  From 
the  bridge  which  spans  the  Cowgate  (George  IV.  Bridge) 
he  was  looking  down  on  the  street  where  so  much  of 
his  labour  had  to  be  carried  on — 

"  The  streets  were  a  puddle ;  the  heavy  air,  loaded 
with  smoke,  was  thick  and  murky ;  right  below  lay 
the  narrow  street  of  dingy  tenements,  whose  toppling 
chimneys  and  patched  and  battered  roofs  were  fit 
emblems  of  the  fortunes  of  most  of  their  tenants.  Of 
these,  some  were  lying  over  the  sills  of  windows  in- 
nocent of  glass,  or  stuffed  with  old  hats  or  dirty  rags ; 
others,  coarse-looking  women,  with  squalid  children  in 
their  arms  or  at  their  feet,  stood  in  groups  at  the 
close  mouths,  here,  with  empty  laughter,  chaffing  any 
passing  acquaintance,  there  screaming  each  other  down 
in  a  drunken  brawl,  or  standing  sullen  and  silent,  with 
hunoer  and  ill-usacje  in  their  saddened  looks.  A 
brewer's  cart,  threatening  to  crush  beneath  its  pon- 
derous wheels  the  ragged  urchins  who  had  no  other 
playground,  rumbled  over  the  causeway,  drowning  the 
quavering  notes  of  one  whose  drooping  head  and 
scanty  dress  were  ill  in  harmony  with  song,  but  not 
drowning  the  shrill  pipe  of  an  Irish  girl,  who  thumped 
the  back  of  an  unlucky  donkey,  and  cried  her  herrings 
at  '  three  a  penny.'  So  looked  the  parish  I  had 
come  to  cultivate ;  and  while  contrasting  the  scene 
below  with  the  pleasant  recollections  of  the  parish  I 
had  just  left — its  singing  larks,  daisied  pastures,  decent 
peasants,  and  the  grand  blue  sea  rolling  its  lines  of 


THE   COWGATE,    FROM   GEORGE   IV,    BRIDGE. 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  283 

snowy  breakers  on  the  shore — my  rather  sad  and 
sombre  ruminations  were  suddenly  checked.  A  hand 
was  laid  on  my  shoulder.     I  turned  round  to  find  Dr. 

Chalmers  at  my  elbow Contemplating  the  scene 

for  a  little  in  silence,  all  at  once,  with  his  broad 
Luther-like  face  glowing  with  enthusiasm,  he  waved 
his  arm  to  exclaim  '  A  beautiful  field,  sir  ;  a  very  fine 
field  of  operation  I '  " 

Guthrie  went  hard  to  work  to  reclaim  the  Cowgate. 
Eising  every  morning  at  five,  he  devoted  the  time 
before  breakfast  to  pulpit  preparation ;  spent  several 
hours  each  day  in  visitation,  and  reserved  his  evenings 
for  reading  and  his  family.  He  secured  the  use  of 
the  Magdalene  Chapel  in  the  Cowgate  for  parochial 
services  with  the  people  who  were  reclaimed,  a  place 
of  historical  interest,  dedicated  of  old  to  St.  Mary 
Magdalene,  the  chapel  of  the  French  Embassy  before 
the  Eeformation,  and  thereafter  the  meeting-place,  if 
not  of  the  very  first,  certainly  of  some  of  the  early 
Assemblies  of  the  Ee formed  Church  of  Scotland.  The 
chapel  still  stands  ;  at  the  present  time  it  is  used  in 
connection  with  the  Livingstone  Medical  Mission — an 
institution  aiming  at  the  same  great  result  by  different 
machinery.  By-and-by  St.  John's  Church  was  built 
for  Dr.  Guthrie,  and  the  greater  part  of  its  sittings 
were  made  free  to  the  people  of  the  district.  The 
poor  were  in  the  area  of  the  church,  the  rich  in  the 
galleries.  But  the  experiment  was  not  allowed  to  be 
worked  out  to  its  final  results.  A  great  ecclesiastical 
convulsion  befell  the  Church  of  Scotland,  and  for  a 


284  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

time  the  concentration  of  effort  to  avert  the  disaster, 
and — after  it  came — to  reconstruct  the  shattered 
institution,  absorbed  the  utmost  efforts  of  Dr.  Guthrie 
and  his  friends. 

Besides  affording  him  a  field  for  his  great  evangelistic 
missions,  the  Cowgate  and  other  old  streets  of  Edinburgh 
had  other  attractions  for  Dr.  Guthrie.  He  delighted  in 
all  that  was  quaint  and  characteristic  of  the  old  town, 
and  his  active  imagination  could  vividly  call  up  the 
past  life  of  the  city,  and  people  every  close  and  wynd 
every  tenement  and  "  land  "  with  its  old  inhabitants. 
For  the  elegant  new  town,  with  its  cold  regularity  of 
square  window  and  level  roof,  he  cared  probably  as 
little  as  Mr.  Euskin,  though  he  did  not  like  him  pour 
out  on  it  any  vial  of  scorn.  But  the  Cowgate  and 
the  Canongate,  the  High  Street  and  the  Grassmarket — 
his  interest  in  them  never  flagged.  Even  as  they  stood 
in  their  decay  they  were  marvellous  sights,  showing  a 
rare  architectural  taste  in  the  barons  and  burgesses 
that  reared  them,  half  savages  thouo'h  we  have  been 
wont  to  think  them.  It  may  seem  an  Irishism,  but 
Edinburgh  was  then  at  least  fifty  years  older  than  it  is 
now.  Half  a  century  has  made  sad  havoc  of  those 
marvellous  old  structures  which  James  Drummond 
sketched,  and  Daniel  Wilson  chronicled,  in  their  very 
different  books,  each  bearincj  the  name  "  Old  Edin- 
burejh." 

But  when  Dr.  Guthrie  came  to  Edinburgh,  most  of 
the  old  historical  houses  still  survived,  though  not  in 
ail  their  glory.     You  did  not  need  to  go  then  to  the 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 


285 


Exhibition  in  the  Meadows  to  see  the  house  of  Cardinal 
Beaton,  it  stood   high  and    mighty,  with  its  strange 


THE   CANONGATE. 

octagon  turret,  at  the   east  end  of  the  Cowgate ;  and 
opposite  to   it  the    icsidcuve  of  Gawin  Douglas,  the 


286  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

poet,  who  would  fain  have  been  Archbishop  of  St. 
Andrews,  but  had  to  content  himself  with  the  bishopric 
of  Dunkeld.  Here  it  v/as,  in  the  Dunkeld  palace,  in 
the  early  days  of  the  Eeformation,  that  after  John 
Knox  had  been  summoned  to  appear  in  the  neighbour- 
insj  Blackfriars'  Church,  and  his  enemies  had  abandoned 
the  prosecution,  he  preached  for  ten  successive  days, 
morning  and  afternoon,  to  greater  crowds  than  had 
ever  listened  to  him  before.  From  the  same  Black- 
friars' Church,  at  an  earlier  period,  the  Hamiltons  had 
issued  to  attack  the  Douglases  in  the  fight  that  used 
to  be  known  as  "  Cleanse  the  Causeway,"  in  which 
good  Sir  Patrick  Hamilton,  the  father  of  the  reformer 
and  martyr  of  the  same  name,  was  slain. 

The  other  or  west  end  of  the  Cowgate  was  not  less 
rich  in  memories  of  the  past.  Near  its  entrance  to 
the  Grassmarket  stood  a  tall  house,  in  the  third  story 
of  which  Mrs.  Syme,  a  sister  of  Principal  Ptobertson, 
kept  a  boarding-house,  in  the  middle  of  last  century. 
The  father  of  the  late  Lord  Brougham  was  one  of 
Mrs.  Syme's  boarders,  and  marrying  her  daughter, 
lived  liere  for  some  time,  removing  afterwards  to  St. 
Andrew  Square,  where  Lord  Brougham  was  born. 
But  the  Grassmarket  itself  had  infinitely  more  stirring 
associations  than  these.  Here  it  was  that  the  stake 
Avas  erected  from  which  so  many  reformers  and  co- 
venanters were  borne  to  heaven  in  the  chariot  of  fire, 
leaving  those  testimonies  and  memories  that  thrilled  so 
many  hearts,  and  none  more  than  that  of  Dr.  Guthrie 
himself,  who   was   all  the    more    susceptible  to  their 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


267 


influence  that  he  believed  himself  to  have  inherited 
martyr's  blood.    The  ''famous  Guthrie  "  ox  the  Martyr's 


THE  GRASSMARKET. 


Monument  in  the  adjacent  Greyfriars'  Churchyard,  if 
not  a  progenitor,  was  of  the  same  stock  of  Forfarshire 


288  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

Guthries  as  himself.     So  was  William  Guthrie,  of  Fen- 
wick,  one  of  the  greatest  preachers  and  most  talented 
men   that   Scotland   ever   possessed,  who   was  ejected 
from  his  charge  after  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  and 
died    soon    afterwards   in   comparative    youth.      That 
Greyfriars'  Churchyard  was  in  the  highest  sense  hal- 
lowed ground.     It  was  here  the  National  covenant  was 
first  signed,  signed  by   some  with  blood  drawn  from 
their  veins,   by  others   with    the   added  words,    "till 
death."     Here,  for  a  whole  winter  after  the  battle  of 
the  Pentlands,  six  hundred  Covenanters  had  been  con- 
fined, without  any  protection  from  the  weather.     Here 
was  the  Covenanter's  grave,   and  the  monument  that 
commemorated   the   eighteen    thousand    that    suffered 
death    during   the   "  kilhng    time."     It    goes   without 
saying  that  such  scenes,  constantly  witnessed  during 
his  Greyfriars  incumbency,  moved  Dr.  Guthrie  to  his 
inmost  soul.     They  did  more.      They  roused  in  him 
the   spirit   of  consecration;  lifted  him   up    above   the 
influences  of  time ;  nourished  in  him  the  thoughts  that 
travel  to   eternity,   and   inspired   those  vivid  and  im- 
pressive appeals  which  gave  to  so  many  hearers  a  new 
sense  of  things  unseen  and  eternal. 

And  there  was  humour,  too,  in  many  of  these  old 
Edinburgh  associations.  It  was  like  a  grim  joke  to  be 
told  that  in  former  days  the  inhabitants  of  the  Horse 
Wynd  or  the  College  Wynd  kept  their  carriages,  and 
when  they  dined  at  one  another's  houses  drove  to  them 
in  state,  even  although  the  distance  should  be  so  small 
(as  it  was  said  of  one  lady)  that  the  horses'  heads  were 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


2B^ 


Opposite  the  door  of  the  one  house  when  the  carriage- 
door  was  opposite  the  other.  Large  apartments  had 
often  been  divided  into  four,  each  the  abode  of  a 
separate  family,  and  sometimes  cries  of  strife  and 
murder  would  come  through  the  thin  plaster  partition 
while  the  minister  was  giving  his  exhortations.     Eush- 


OLD    IlOL'oES    IN   THE   CANONGATi: 


ing  to  ascertain  the  cause,  he  would  find  that  it  was 
only  two  low  Irishwomen  that  liad  quarrelled ;  but 
what  a  change  of  tenantry  from  the  days  when  the 
highest  of  the  land  were  the  occupants,  and  the  Sovereign 
himself  did  not  deem  it  beneath  him  to  accept  their 
hosjoitality ! 

In  its  early  days  the  Cowgate  was  the  fashionable 
suburb  of  Edinburgh,  resembling  Grange  or  ]\Iorning- 


290 


^HOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


side  at  the  present 
aristocratic.   It  was 
battle    of    riodden 
enclosed  by  the  city 
all  was  green  ;  the 
ground  of  the  Grey- 
lay  in  front,  and  a 
the  Kirk  o' 
Held,  near 
to   which 
Darnley 
was    mur- 
dered, and 
the 


day,  only  far  morfe 
not  till  after  the 
that  it  was  even 
wall.  To  the  south 
garden  and  burial- 
friars  Monastery 
little  to  the  left 


THE   TOLBOOTH. 


University  stands  now.     The  Lawn-market,  the  High 
Street,  and  the   Canongate    were  the    real    backbone. 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  291 

of  old  Edinburgh.  All  tlie  space  between  the  Castle 
and  Holyrood  swarms  with  historical  associations. 
True,  the  old  Tolbooth  had  been  removed  some  time 
before,  and  only  the  site  remained  to  tell  where  "  the 
Heart  of  Midlothian "  stood.  But  St.  Giles's  was 
there,  and  Knox's  house,  and  the  Eegent  Moray's,  and 
Hyndford  Close,  and  the  White  Horse  Inn,  which  last 
has  been  quite  demolished  by  the  Improvement  Com- 
mission. It  was  to  it  that  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  came, 
on  his  visit  to  the  city  in  1774,  when  Boswell  found 
him  grumbling,  for  the  place  looked  slovenly,  and  the 
waiter  had  shocked  him  by  using  his  fingers  to  put  a 
piece  of  sugar  in  his  lemonade.  From  the  White  Horse 
Johnson  removed  to  James's  Court  in  the  Castle  Hill, 
where  Boswell  resided,  and  where  also  Lord  Kames, 
David  Hume,  and  Dr.  Blair  had  their  abodes.  In 
Guthrie's  time,  all  these  were  yet  standing;  looking  to 
Princes  Street,  the  pile,  of  which  they  were  parts, 
presented  ten  or  twelve  stories  ;  it  was  consumed  by 
fire  in  185  7,  and  the  Savings'  Bank  and  Free  Church 
offices  now  occupy  the  site.  When  the  new  t<twn  began 
to  be  built,  David  Hume  removed  to  St.  David  Street, 
and  some  of  Dr.  Guthrie's  friends  have  heard  him  tell 
the  current  story  of  the  origin  of  that  name.  The 
street  had  got  no  authentic  name,  when  some  wag  wrote 
in  chalk  over  the  great  freethinker's  door,  "  St.  David's 
Street."  His  servant,  shocked  at  the  discovery,  rushed 
to  tell  her  master  that  they  had  made  a  saint  of  him, 
expecting  doubtless  to  be  ordered  to  remove  the 
name,  but  the  good-natured  philosopher  only  laughed. 


292  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

"  Never  mind/'  he  said ;  "  tliey  have  done  as  load  to 
many  a  better  man." 

We  need  not  enter  in  this  sketch  into  the  painful 
controversy  between  the  Ecclesiastical  and  Civil  Courts 
of  Scotland,  which  in  1843  ended  in  the  disruption  of 
the  Church,  and  the  demission  of  their  charges  by 
upwards  of  470  ministers,  of  whom  Dr.  Guthrie  vv'as 
one.  Dr.  Guthrie  threw  his  soul  into  that  conflict  on  the 
side  of  the  independence  of  the  church  and  the  rights  of 
the  people.  The  cause  appeared  to  him  to  be  identical 
with  that  for  which  the  martyrs  had  suffered  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  in  defence  of  which  the  great 
Covenant  had  been  sworn  in  the  Greyfriars'  Church- 
yard. So  strong  were  his  convictions,  that  when  the 
Court  of  Session,  arro^atinii"  to  itself  the  functions 
of  the  church,  issued  an  interdict  forbidding  the 
ministers  appointed  by  the  General  Assembly  to 
preach  or  do  any  spiritual  work  in  the  parishes  of  the 
deposed  ministers  of  Strathbogie,  Dr.  Guthrie  not  only 
disregarded  the  interdict,  but  exhibited  it  at  a  public 
meeting,  and  after  indignantly  denouncing  the  intrusion 
of  this  modern  Ahaz  into  the  sanctuary,  threw  it  to 
the  ground  and  trampled  it  under  his  heel.  That 
same  interdict  he  bettueathed,  along  v.iLli  his  co})y  of 
the  National  League  and  Covenant,  to  the  New  College, 
Edinburgh,  where  it  hangs  in  the  common  hall  to  the 
present  day. 

When  the  separation  of  the  FrenB  Church  from  the 
State  had  taken  place,  and  the  building  of  the  new 
churches   had   been  well    advanced,  Dr.  Guthrie    set 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  293 

himself,  at  the   earnest   request   of  the  church,  to  a 


JAMES"S  COURT. 

gigantic  task — to  raise  over  the  whole  church  a  "  Manse 
Fund,"  which   shouki   give    such  effective  aid   in  the 


294  THOMAS  GUTHRIE,  D.D. 

building  uf  manses  as  to  make  it  possible  for  each 
congregation  to  have  a  house  for  its  minister.  To 
accomplish  this  he  had  to  be  set  free  from  his  charge 
from  June  1845  to  1846,  traverse  the  whole  country, 
hold  public  meetings  in  every  important  centre  to 
explain  and  urge  his  scheme,  and  make  innumerable 
calls  in  order  to  get  contributions  from  the  fiiends  in 
each  place  who  were  likely  to  head  the  list.  It  was 
most  congenial  work ;  for  to  help  sLx  or  seven  hundred 
families  to  obtain  comfortable  homes,  and  thus  provide 
for  every  congregation  a  centre  of  that  happy  holy 
influence  which  has  so  often  gone  forth  from  the 
manses  of  Scotland  was  an  object  most  attractive  to 
his  genial,  domestic  nature.  And  the  terrible  revela- 
tions of  suffering  which  he  found  in  places  not  a  few, 
where  he  came  upou  ousted  ministers  living  in  some 
corner  of  a  farmhouse,  uith  their  families  far  away  in 
the  nearest  town,  or  dying  in  unwholesome  hovels, 
because  the  proprietor  would  not  tolerate  the  least 
accommodation  beino;  oiven  them  bv  their  tenants,  while 
it  touched  his  own  heart  to  the  quick,  and  made  the 
cause  infinitely  dearer  to  him  than  ever,  gave  an 
eloquence  to  his  tongue  and  a  power  to  his  appeals 
that  contributed  marvellously  to  the  success  of  the 
nndertaking.  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  able  to 
announce  that  in  place  of  ;^  100,000,  the  sum  aimed 
at,  £1 16,000  had  been  promised  for  the  scheme.  But 
this  magnificent  result  was  not  attained  without  a 
great  drawback.  The  strain  was  beyond  his  strength, 
and  the  weak  action  of  the  heart  which  it  brought  on. 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  295 

not  only  exposed  him  to  much  feeble  health  during 


THE   OLD    TOWX,    FROM   PRIXCES   STREET, 

the  remainder  of  his  active  life,  but  compelled  his 
early  withdrawal  from  active  labour^  and  at  last 
shortened  his  days. 


»96 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 


But     tliere    was    anotlier 

great  acLievement  yet  to  "be 

carried  into  effect,  wliich  would 

reflect   honour  on  his  name  over 

a  much  wider  area  than  that  which 

was     henefited     by    his     manse 

scheme.      We    mean   his  work 

for  Eagged  Schools,  to  which, 

thoudi  he  was  not 

the    founder    of 

them,    he    was 

able,     by    the 

and       eloquence 

tonQ,ue    and   his 

an  impulse  which 

precedent  in  all 

tory.     The  need 

for  the  neglected 

cities   had   been 

his  mind  in  the 


power 

of     his 

pen,  to  give 

has   hardly  a        V- 

philanthropic  his- 

of  some  special  effort 

children  of  our  great 

deeply    pressed    ou 

course    of    his    ex^  .•^^  perience     as     a 

territorial  a  bit  of  the  high  street.  worker  in 

the  Cowgate.     To  quote  again  from  Dr.  Hanna. 

"It  had  been  long  apparent  to  him  that  the  one 
great   opprobrium    which   lay   upon   the    Christianity 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 


297 


of  our  country  was  the  debased  and  degraded 
condition  of  such  laru:e 
masses  of  our  city  popu- 
lations —  the  ignorance, 
the  drunkenness,  the 
debauchery,  the  crime, 
the  godlessness  —  sim- 
mering and  seething, 
boiling  up  and  running 
over  within  those  half- 
lighted,  half-heated,  de- 
filed and  uncleansed 
dwellings,  in  which  thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of 
our  fellow-creatures  are 
living  and  dying  within 
arm's  reach,  yet  com- 
paratively uncared  for. 
Upon  this  reproachful 
and  revolting  spectacle 
he  looked,  not  so  much 
to  condemn,  as  to  pity 
and  to  sympathize.  He 
knew  and  felt  how  much 
of   the  sinninsf  and  suf- 

O 

fering  was  due   to   early 
trainim:^,  to  the  force  of 
example,   the    power    of 
moulding  circumstances,  the  absence  of  all  encourage- 
ment to  truth   and  temperance,  thrift  and  piety,  the 


A  WYND. 


298  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

presence  of  all  kinds  of  temptations  to  all  kinds  of  sin. 
It  was  neither  in  the  spirit  of  the  censor  that  he  desired 
to  speak,  nor  in  the  spirit  of  the  lictor  that  he  desired 
to  punish,  nor  in  the  spirit  of  the  patron  that  he  desired 
to  help.     It  was  comparatively  easy  to  condemn  or  to 
punish,  or  even  pecuniarily  and  otherwise  to  aid.     The 
one  thing  wanted  was  to  get,  if  possible,  at  the  root  of 
the   evil,  and   dry  up  at  the  fountain-head  the  sources 
from  which  all  this  evil  flowed.      If,  as  all  experience 
proves,  it  is  the  character  of  a  community  that  deter- 
mines their  condition,  to  work  upon  their  motives,  prin- 
ciples, and  habits — upon  all  in  fact  by  which  character 
is   formed,  w^as  the   thing   most  needed.      No    other 
method  of  doing  so   appeared  to  him  half  so  hopeful 
as  those  Territorial  Churches  by  whose  multiplied  and 
concentrated  agencies  the  lessons  of  the  Gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  are  brought   home  to  every  heart,  and  pressed 
upon  every  individual  conscience  and  heart.    He  sought 
to   turn   his    own  parish   church,  when  he  got  it  un- 
collegiated,  into  a  Mission  Church  of  this  character; 
and  when,  through    no   fault   of  his,   that  project  fell 
throuo-h,   he  took    viojorous   and  effective  part  in  the 
establishment  of  the  Mission  Church  in  the  Pleasance, 
which  his  congregation  originated,  and  by  which,  for 
many  years,  it  was  sustained.      Seeing  in  the  one  habit 
of  drunkenness  the  pregnant  spring  of  far  more  than 
half  the  existing  wretchedness  and  crime,  he  headed 
for  a  time  the  temperance  movement,  and  to  the  last 
was  ready  to  aid  every  feasible  effort  for  the  mitigation 
of  this  monster  evil.     But  his  long  experience  taught 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE,  299 

liim  tliat  by  far  the  most  liopeful  field  of  labour  was 
the  education  and  Christian  training  of  the  young.  It 
must  be  left  to  others  now  to  tell  how  it  was  that 
within  this  held  he  chose  for  himself  a  limited  space, 
and  erected  an  enclosure,  and  gathered  into  it  the 
wandering  Arabs  of  our  streets,  and  published  his 
'  Plea  for  Eagged  Schools,'  and  built  his  own  Eagged 
School  upon  the  Mound,  and  wrote  for  it,  and  begged 
for  it,  delivering  those  annual  orations  which  thrilled 
the  hearts  of  thousands,  till  he  raised  it  into  the  con- 
dition of  one  of  the  most  important  and  permanent 
institutions  of  the  city,  and  lived  to  see  hundreds  of 
outcast  children,  who  otherwise  had  been  doomed  to 
wretchedness  and  vice,  turned  at  least  into  wtII  doing, 
creditable  citizens,  many  of  them,  let  us  hope,  into 
Christian  men  and  women." 

Dr.  Guthrie's  first  "  Plea  for  Eagged  Schools,"  was 
one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  powerful  w^ritings  that 
ever  came  from  his  pen.  After  an  interval  of  fully  fortj^ 
years  the  present  writer  can  vividly  recall  the  sensation 
which  its  publication  produced  in  Edinburgh.  Edition 
followed  edition  with  marvellous  rapidity,  and  the  heart 
of  the  community  was  moved  as  by  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse. The  institution  of  a  Eagged  School  followed 
rapidly  in  1847.  The  commanding  place  which  Dr. 
Guthrie  assigned  to  the  Bible  in  his  school  caused  the 
secession  of  a  few  friends,  who  thought  that  the  Eoman 
Catholics  should  be  educated  on  their  own  principles. 
There  was  a  celebrated  meeting  in  the  Music  Hall  in 
July  1847,  ^^  which  each  party  made  its  appeal,  but 


300  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

it  ended  in  an  overwlielming  victory  for  Dr.  Guthrie. 
The  other  x^arty  established  a  school  on  their  own  lines, 
wliich  received  a  fair  share  of  support  and  success. 

]\Iany  a  vivid  picture  did  Dr.  Guthrie  draw  in  speech 
and  in  writing  of  the  miserable  class  he  desired  to 
benefit.  Here  is  the  first  that  occurs  in  his  first 
Plea. 

"  On  a  summer  day,  when  in  the  blessed  sunshine 
and  warm  air,  misery  itself  will  sing ;  dashing  in  and 
out  of  these  closes,  careering  over  the  open  ground, 
engaged  in  their  rude  games,  arrayed  in  flying  drapery, 
here  a  Icg:  out  and  there  an  arm,  are  crowds  of  children  ; 
their  thin  faces  tell  how  ill  tliey  are  fed,  their  fearful 
oaths  tell  how  ill  they  are  reared ;  and  yet  the  merry 
laugh  and  hearty  shout,  and  scream  of  delight,  as  some 
unfortunate  urchin  at  leap-frog  measures  his  lengtli 
alouGf  the  oTound,  also  tell  that  God  made  childhood 
to  be  happy,  and  that  in  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  even 
misery  will  forget  itself. 

"  We  get  hold  of  one  of  these  boys.  Poor  fellow  ! 
it  is  a  bitter  day,  he  has  neither  shoes  nor  stockings ; 
liis  naked  feet  are  red,  swollen,  cracked,  ulcerated  with 
tlie  cold ;  a  thin,  thread-worn  jacket,  with  its  gaping 
rents,  is  all  that  protects  his  breast ;  beneath  his  sliaggy 
head  of  air  he  shows  a  face  sharp  with  want,  yet  sharp 
also  with  intelligence  beyond  his  years.  This  poor 
fellow  has  learned  already  to  be  self-supporting.  He 
liad  studied  the  arts — he  is  a  master  of  imposture, 
lyinii;,  beo'srin;:*',  stealino; ;  and  small  blame  to  him,  but 
much  to  those  who  have  neglected  him,  he  had  other- 


JOHN   KNOX'ii   HOUSE. 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


303 


wise  pined  and  perished.  So  soon  as  you  have  satisfied 
him  that  you  are  not  connected  with  the  poUce,  you 
aslv  him, '  Where  is  your  father  ? '  Now  hear  his  story  ; 

and  there  are  hundreds 
could  tell  a  similar 
tale.  '  Where  is  your 
father  ? '  '  He  is  dead, 
sir.'  'Where  is  your 
mother  ? '  '  Dead  too." 
'  Where  do  you  stay  ? ' 
'  Sister  and  I  and  my 
little  brother  stay  with 
Granny.'  '  What  is 
she  ? '  '  She  is  a  widow 
woman.'  *  What  does 
she  do  ? '  '  Sells  sticks, 
sir.'  '  And  can  she 
keep  you  all  ? '  '  Xo.' 
'  Then  how  do  you 
live  ? '  'Go  about  and 
get  bits  of  bread,  sell 
matches,  and  some- 
times get  a  trifle  from 
the  carriers  for  running 
an  errand. '  '  Do  you 
go  to  school?'  'Xo, 
never  was  at  school ; 
attended  sometimes  a 
Sabbath  school,  but  hadn't  been  there  for  a  long  time.' 
'  Do  you  go  to  church  ? '     '  Never  was  iu  a  church.' 


LADY  stair's  CLOSE, 


304  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

'  Do  you  know  who  made  you  ? '  *  Yes,  God  made 
me/  '  Do  you  say  your  prayers  ? '  '  Yes,  mother 
taught  me  a  prayer  before  she  died ;  and  I  say  it  to 
Granny  afore  I  lie  down.'  '  Have  you  a  bed  ? '  '  Some 
straw,  sir.' " 

The  first  and  most  visible  result  of  Dr.  Guthrie's 
movement  was  the  sudden  decline  in  the  number  of 
juvenile  offenders  committed  to  prison.  In  the  year 
1847,  hefore  the  school  was  in  full  operation,  the 
number  of  juveniles  under  fourteen  committed  to  prison 
was  5 '6  per  cent,  of  the  whole  committals.  In  1848 
it  had  fallen  to  37  ;  in  1849  ^'^  2*9  ;  and  in  1850  to 
1*3.  In  sub'sequcnt  years  it  continued  to  fall;  but 
though  the  governor  of  the  gaol  always  recognized  the 
Eagged  School  as  one  great  cause  of  diminution,  he 
pointed  out  that  a  change  of  the  lav/  had  also  some- 
thing to  do  wdth  it,  other  ways  being  now  employed  for 
dealing  with  young  offenders  than  sending  them  to 
prison.  In  the  Annual  Eeports  of  the  Eagged  School 
the  percentage  of  juvenile  committments  is  always 
given.  The  lowest  figure  to  which  the  percentage  fell 
was  in  1881,  when  it  was  only  0*3  ;  for  the  year  1886 
it  was  r29.  It  is  h;irdly  fair,  however,  to  dwell  on 
une  paiticular  year,  for  incidcntrJ  circumstances,  such 
as  an  Irish  inipurtatiuii,  may  affect  the  result.  When 
the  whole  period  is  surveyed  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  there  has  been  a  decided  improvement,  for  a  great 
part  of  which  the  credit  is  due  to  Dr.  Guthrie's  great 
■and  stirrino;  movement. 

But  the  mere  statistics  of  the  Eai^sfed  School  show 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE,  305 

but  a  very  minute  part  of  the  effect  which  Dr.  Gutliiie's 
infiueiice  had  on  Edinburgh  and  the  country.  He  con- 
tributed materially  to  warm  the  heart  of  Edinburgh, 
and  inspire  it  with  a  compassion  beyond  any  previous 
measure.  In  former  days  "  Modern  Athens  "  was  not 
proverbial  for  w^armth  of  feeling.  It  can  hardly  bo 
doubted  that  the  temperature  is  higher  now.  The 
number  of  our  charities  is  now  Legion,  and  prominent 
men  are  at  tliis  moment  debatino;  how  the  manacjement 
may  be  economized  by  the  reduction  of  the  number. 
The  class  of  operations  which  Dr.  Guthrie's  example 
and  influence  chiefly  encouraged  was  that  wliich  seeks 
the  rescue  and  the  welfare  of  the  young.  And  have 
\ve  not  our  Industrial  Brigade,  and  our  Training  Ship, 
and  our  Canada  Emigration  Homes,  and  our  Cliildren's 
Hospital,  and  our  Children's  Convalescent  Home,  and 
our  Infant  Protection  Society,  and  our  Children's 
Cri23ples'  Home,  besides  other  Houses  and  Eefuges  under 
more  personal  auspices,  all  directed  to  the  care  of  the 
neglected  young  ?  True,  indeed.  Dr.  Guthrie  was  not 
the  first  nor  the  only  conspicuous  citizen  to  make 
appeals  on  their  behalf.  "We  believe  that  the  Eev. 
William  Eobertson  was  doing  the  same  kindly  work 
even  before  Dr.  Guthrie  lifted  up  his  voice.  But  it  fell 
to  Guthrie  to  gather  the  trickling  streamlets  of  sympathy 
for  the  neglected  young  into  a  mighty  current,  and  propel 
it  onwards  with  a  momentum  previously  unknown. 
AVliat  great  reformer  does  more  ?  Whatever  other 
changes  may  have  happened  in  Edinburgh  between 
1837  and  1887,  there  can  be  little  doubt  tliat  neglected 

U 


3o6  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

cliildren  there  have  ten  friends  to-day  for  every  one  they 
liad  when  Victoria  began  her  reign. 

And  if  Guthrie  and  Clialmers  alike  would  have  been 
disappointed  to-day  to  see  the  Cowgate  but  little  better 
than  it  was  when  they  looked  down  on  it  from 
George  IV.  Bridge  in  1837,  it  i^^ust  be  considered  that 
the  peculiarity  of  the  district  fully  accounts  for  this. 
During  these  fifty  years  it  has  been  flooded  with  Irisli 
Catholics,  who,  now  that  the  vigilance  of  their  priests  is 
aroused,  will  absolutely  have  no  dealings  with  the 
Protestant  minister.  Moreover,  our  licensing  authori- 
ties have  kept  it  studded  with  public-houses — thirty 
in  one  poor  street — that  are  continually  acting  as  the 
spider  to  the  fly  to  many  an  enfeebled  creature  that 
would  be  sober  and  well-doing  if  drink  were  a  hundred 
miles  away,  but  cannot  resist  the  temptation  when  it  is 
sold  at  almost  every  other  door.  There  is  no  lack  of 
mission-work  in  the  Cowgate,  and  sometimes  it  is  very 
successful  work.  But  the  universal  observation  is,  that 
whenever  an  individual  or  a  family  are  lifted  up  out 
of  the  old  life  they  try  to  find  a  house  in  some  more 
reputable  neighbourhood  and  cease  to  be  inhabitants 
of  the  Cowgate.  And  their  places  are  filled  up  by  fresh 
arrivals,  usually  hailing  from  the  Green  Isle. 

We  would  fain  believe  that  on  the  whole  the  com- 
munity of  Edinburgh  is  botli  more  sober  and  of  a  higher 
moral  tone  than  it  was.  A  considerable  proportion  of  its 
clergy,  physicians,  lawyers,  and  traders  are  teetotallers. 
Dr.  Guthrie  was  among  the  first  to  take  up  tliat 
ground.      His    "  Plea    for    PTunkards    and    against 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  307 

Drunkenness "  was  a  landmark  in  the  battle  with 
intemperance.  The  moral  forces  that  achieved  the 
Forbes-Mackenzie  Act  owed  not  a  little  to  his  example 
as  an  abstainer,  and  to  his  pleas  for  temperance. 
Until  ill-health  and  medical  prescription  compelled 
him  to  give  in  he  fought  the  battle  with  undaunted 
courage  and  energy.  Usually,  in  moral  movements,  it 
is  only  when  one  looks  backward  after  an  interval 
that  one  perceives  how  the  tide  has  risen.  We  per- 
ceive a  remarkable  improvement ;  and  when  w^e  begin 
to  ask  how  it  came  to  pass,  we  see  how  much  more 
effect  some  one  man's  exertions  must  have  had  than 
we  had  any  thought  of  at  the  time. 

When  Dr.  Guthrie  became  editor  of  the  Sunday 
Magazine  in  1864  he  was  quite  conscious  of  entering 
on  work  that  involved  much  irksome  detail,  and  for 
which  his  previous  life  and  habits  hardly  fitted  him. 
He  took  care  to  look  out  for  the  help  of  one  more 
familiar  with  this  kind  of  work ;  but,  indeed,  this 
proved  to  be  hardly  necessary,  the  publisher  himself 
taking  the  main  share  both  of  originating  and  carrying 
out  the  literary  arrangements.  A  portion  of  his  work 
being  devolved  on  the  present  writer,  he  was  thereby 
brought  into  much  close  and  confidential  intercourse 
with  the  editor.  And  it  was  intercourse  of  a  most 
delightful  kind.  The  remembrance  of  Dr.  Guthrie's 
unfailing  kindness  and  encouragement  cannot  be  for- 
gotten while  memory  lasts.  What  delicacy  he  showed, 
when  he  happened  to  differ,  in  his  care  not  to  offend  ! 
What  courtesy  in  availing  himself  of  every  occasion 


3o8  THOMAS  GUTHRIE, 

where  he  could  say  a  kind  and  complimentary  word ! 
Dr.  Hanna's  experience  as  his  colleague  was  precisely 
similar.  "  Never  can  I  forget,"  he  said,  "  the  kindness 
and  tenderness,  the  constant  and  delicate  consideration 
with  which  Dr.  Guthrie  ever  tried  to  lessen  the  diffi- 
culties of  my  position,  and  to  soften  its  trials.  Brother 
could  not  have  treated  brother  with  more  affectionate 
regard." 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Dr.  Guthrie  that  it  was  only 
the  broken  and  comparatively  feeble  years  of  his  life 
tliat  he  could  give  to  magazine  work.  Many  of  his 
papers  were  in  his  best  style,  especially  those  that,  lilce 
"  The  Angels'  Song,"  in  the  early  numbers,  were  revised 
editions  of  sermons.  Before  he  entered  on  his  editorial 
duties  a  medical  sentence  had  been  passed  on  him, 
interdicting  all  work  that  would  cause  a  strain.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  what  such  a  man  might  not  have  done 
at  the  head  of  a  popular  religious  magazine  had  he  been 
able  to  throw  his  whole  heart  into  it,  and  make  every 
number  tell  with  vigour  on  the  great  aims  of  his  life. 
As  it  was  he  contributed  an  eminently  bright  and 
sunny  element  to  the  journal,  ahvays  fitted  to  lift  up 
the  reader's  heart,  to  quicken  his  best  aspirations,  and 
■ureje  him  to  minde  more  of  the  love  of  God  and  the 
love  of  man  with  his  daily  life.  Many  men  have 
the  notion  that  Scotch  religion  of  the  old  type  is  very 
dreary,  and  that  it  refuses  all  alliance  with  the  brighter 
and  more  playful  aspects  of  life.  If  the  reader  will 
recall  the  leadinc?  religious  Scotchmen  of  the  last 
generation  he  will  find  little  to  support  that  view.    Dr, 


THOMAS  GUTHRII':. 
J)taii<!i  l>y  Sir  Javies  D,  Lintoti, 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  311 

Guthrie  was  as  Scotch  as  Scotch  could  be,  a  Shorter 
Catechism  man  to  the  backbone,  yet  for  five-and- 
twenty  years  he  was  the  brightest  of  all  the  public 
men  of  the  metropolis,  and  all  his  life  went  to  show 
what  a  fund  of  tenderness  and  sympathy  and  sprightly 
humour  might  be  combined  with  a  firm  creed  and  a 
faithful  ministry. 

In  1849,  1^1'-  Guthrie  received  the  degree  of  D.D. 
from  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  and  in  1862  he 
was  chosen  Moderator  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the 
Free  Church. 

Soon  after  his  settlement  at  Arbirlot,  Dr.  Guthrie 
married  Anne,  daughter  of  Eev.  James  Burns,  minister 
of  Brechin,  and  in  the  course  of  time  a  large  family — 
six  sons  and  four  daughters — grew  up  around  their 
table.  Mrs.  Guthrie  was  like-minded  with  her  husband^ 
and  admirably  adapted  to  him.  Seldom  has  there  been 
a  happier  or  a  better  household.  That  rare  power  of 
sympathy  wliich  made  him  so  powerful  as  a  preacher 
stood  in  good  stead  to  him  as  a  parent.  Entering  into 
the  feelings  of  his  children  he  became  their  companion 
and  almost  playfellow,  and  knew  well  how  to  sweeten 
tlie  demands  of  obedience  througli  the  influence  of 
affection.  The  vivacity  of  his  temperament,  and  the 
boundless  and  endless  play  of  his  humour  could  not 
fail  to  make  his  home  attractive.  Under  the  outer 
garb  of  fun  and  frolic,  his  children  could  not  but  see 
the  profound  reverence  for  all  that  was  sacred,  the 
intense  shrinking  from  all  vileness  and  disorder,  and 
the  longing  wish    for   the  welfare    and    happiness  of 


312  THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 

every  creature,  that  were  at  tlie  bottom  of  his 
character.  And  so,  amid  all  the  frivolities  and  all 
the  ccrruption  of  a  large  city,  they  grew  up,  by  God's 
groat  blessing,  much  as  their  father  would  have  wished 
them,  and  in  manhood  and  womanhood,  have  sustained 
the  character  of  honourable  and  Christian  men  and 
women. 

Few  religious  authors  have  been  more  popular  than 
Dr.  Guthrie.  Of  his  first  work,  "The  Gospel  in 
Ezekiel,"  dedicated  to  Dr.  Hanna,  which  appeared  in 
1855,  the  sale  in  this  country  has  exceeded  40,000 
copies.  "  Christ  and  the  Inheritance  of  the  Saints," 
appeared  in  i  8  5  8.  The  list  of  his  publications  includes 
nearly  twenty  volumes,  and  of  those  "Out  of  Har- 
ness," and  "The  Parables  read  in  the  Light  of  the 
Present  Day,"  appeared  in  Good  Words ;  and  "  Our 
Father's  Business,"  "  Studies  of  Cliaracter  from  the 
Old  Testament"  (two  series),  "The  Angels'  Song," 
"  Sundays  on  the  Continent,"  and  "  Saving  Know- 
led  o-e  "  were  mainly  collections  of  contributions  to  the 
Sunday  Magazine. 

Dr.  Guthrie's  last  illness  lasted  a  considerable  time. 
In  the  winter  of  1872-3  he  suffered  severely,  and,  in 
the  liope  of  improvement,  went  to  St.  Leonards,  at 
which  place,  after  a  sharp  renewed  attack,  he  died.  It 
was  difficult  to  say  whether  his  expressions  of  humble 
trust  in  his  Saviour,  or  of  affectionate  regard  for  his 
family  and  his  friends  were  the  more  beautiful 
Eeferrinn-  to  the  kindness  of  a  Highland  girl  who  had 
nursed  him  in  his  sickness,  he  said,  "Affection  is  very 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE.  313 

sweet;  and  it  is  all  one  from  whatever  quarter  it 
comes — whether  from  this  Highland  lassie  or  from  a 
peeress — ^jnst  as  to  a  thirsty  man  cold  water  is  equally 
grateful  from  a  spring  on  the  hillside  or  from  a  richly 
ornamented  fountain."  "  Death,"  he  said  on  another 
occasion,  "  is  mining  away  here,  slowly  hut  surely,  in 
the  dark."  His  affection  could  not  be  suppressed, 
even  in  the  lowest  stage  of  exhaustion.  To  most 
persons  when  dying  a  child  in  the  room  would  be 
somewhat  of  a  trouble ;  but  the  sight  of  a  little  grand- 
child of  four  years  was  to  him  full  of  interest.  "  Put 
her  up,"  he  said  the  moment  he  saw  her  ;  and  when, 
having  been  lifted  up  to  the  bed,  she  crept  up  to  him 
and  kissed  him,  he  nodded  to  her  and  whispered,  "  My 
bonnie  lamb."  During  liis  illness  he  was  often  soothed 
by  hymn  and  psalm-singiug,  and  of  none  was  he  more 
fond  than  children's  hymns.  "  Give  me  a  bairns' 
hymn,"  he  would  say  to  his  children,  and  when  they 
sung,  "  Jesus,  tender  Shepherd,  hear  me,"  or  "  There  is 
a  happy  land,"  his  spirit  was  refreshed.  He  often 
thanked  God  that  he  had  not  left  his  preparation  to  a 
dying  hour,  and  spoke  of  tlie  unutterable  folly  of  those 
who  do  so.  To  those  absent  he  sent  lovino-  messac^es, 
bidding  one  of  them  "  Stand  up  for  Jesus  in  all  cir- 
cumstances." The  peace  and  confidence  of  his  death- 
bed completed  and  crowned  that  testimony  to  the 
saving  power  of  Jesus  which  in  his  words  and  works- 
alike,  had  been  borne  during;  his  life.  His  death 
occurred  early  on  the  morning  of  the  24th  of  Feb- 
ruary 1873. 


3i4 


THOMAS  GUTHRIE. 


The  funeral  in  Edinburgli,  in  the  classic  ground  of 
tlie  Grange  Cemetery,  amid  a  concourse  of  some  thirty 
thousand  spectators,  was  a  marvellous  testimony  of  the 
aPfectionate  and  reverential  regard  in  which  he  was 
held  by  all. 

W.  G.  Blaikie. 


\   ^}vLO         'n     X 


PRINCIPAL    TULLOCH. 


"  Live  for  to-day  !  to-morrow's  light 
To-morrow's  cares  shall  bring  to  sight ; 
Go  sleep  like  closing  flowers  at  night, 
And  heaven  thy  morn  will  bless." 

Joiix  Kf.hi.r. 


PRINCIPAL    TULLOCH. 


'iST  September  1885,  John  Shairp,  the  accom- 
plished Principal  of  St.  Salvator's  and  St. 
Leonard's  was  buried  near  liis  old,  romantic 
home  in  Linlithgowshire ;  and  in  February 
of  the  following  year,  the  remains  of  the 
beloved  Principal  of  St.  Mary's  were  followed 
by  a  crowd  of  sorrowing  mourners  gathered  to  St. 
Andrews  from  far  and  near ;  and  as  the  chill  snow- 
showers  drove  along  the  wintry  sea,  lie  was  laid  to  rest 
near  the  precincts  of  the  cathedral,  and  almost  under 
the  shadow  of  the  tower  of  St.  Eeaulus. 

Shairp  and  Tulloch  were  typical  men,  alike  in  lofty 
tone  and  in  their  intense  patriotism,  while  wholly  dis- 
similar in  many  other  characteristics.  Shairp — poetic, 
contemplative,  and  pure  as  a  saint — had  drunk  in  the 
very  soul  of  Wordsworth.     He   delighted  iu  Nature. 


3i8  PRINCIPAL  rULLOCH, 

Armed  with  liis  long  liazel  stick,  and  protected  by  his 
plaid,  it  was  his  custom  to  wander  far  and  wdde  over 
Highland  moors  and  among  Border  solitudes,  sleeping 
in  any  shepherd's  cot,  and  crooning  as  he  walked  some 
old  ballad  or  Gaelic  song.  Modern  "  progress "  had 
little  attraction  for  him,  and  he  had  less  liking  still  for 
the  so-called  "Broad"  section  of  the  Church,  to  wiiich 
so  many  of  his  earliest  and  dearest  friends  more  or  less 
belonged,  such  as  Arnold,  Stanley,  Jowett,  ^STorman 
]\Iacleod.  His  sympathies  seemed  to  be  equally  divided 
between  the  Evangelicalism  of  earnest  Scotch  Presby- 
terianism  and  the  devotional  charm  of  the  Oxford  of 
Newman  and  Keble. 

Tulloch,  on  the  other  hand,  rejoiced  in  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  time,  and  was  one  of  the  chief  representatives 
of  the  liberal  thought  which  has  of  late  years  been 
remoulding  the  spirit  of  the  Scottish  Church.  His 
influence  was  wholly  on  tlie  side  of  "  a  sweet  reason- 
ableness," and  of  a  wide  toleration.  He  had  for  many 
a  day,  in  common  with  others  who  have  passed  aw\ay 
and  whose  memories  are  now  universally  revered,  to 
bear  the  burden  of  suspicion,  and  to  endure  the  hard 
names  of  "  Latitudinarian  "  and  "  Eationalist,"  but  these 
things  did  not  shake  his  loyalty  to  conviction.  Uniting 
rich  stores  of  learning  with  a  commanding  eloquence, 
he  fulfilled  a  leading  part  in  enlarging,  to  the  healthy 
measure  of  its  present  freedom,  the  once  narrow  limits 
of  Scottish  theology.  His  life  was  full  to  the  brim 
with  an  ardent  sympathy,  which  made  him  respond 
with  intense  keenness  to  the  demands  which  the  age 


JOHN    TUTJ.OCIT. 
Fjoitt  a  Phoiop-npJi  hy  T.  Rodccr,  Sf.  .4>iihv7('s. 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH.  321 

made  on  liis  Christian  enthusiasm.  His  bodily  appear- 
ance was  a  true  exponent  of  his  inner  nature.  In  any 
gathering  of  men  at  which  he  was  present  he  at  once 
attracted  attention.  His  manly  form  carried  aloft  a 
head  which  might  have  served  as  a  study  for  an  Apollo, 
his  countenance  beamed  with  intelligence,  and  his 
splendid  eye,  when  his  feelings  were  roused,  literally 
blazed  with  fervour.  Tender  as  a  child,  and  moved  to 
tears  by  the  slightest  thrill  of  pathos,  he  would,  when 
touched  by  anything  he  deemed  intolerant,  ungenerous, 
or  dishonest,  rise  into  bursts  of  the  most  passionate 
oratory. 

The  term  "  Broad  Churchman  "  does  not  always  con- 
vey a  complete  representation  of  the  person  so  desig- 
nated. There  are  some  who  assume  the  title  and  dis- 
play the  narrowest  bigotry  regarding  all  dogmas  but 
their  own.  There  are  others  who  with  a  bitter  cynicism 
have  nothing  to  offer  but  the  hard  stone  of  negation  to 
hungry  hearts  crying  for  bread.  But  Tulloch  was 
broad  in  the  best  sense,  for  his  large  tolerance  of  spirit 
was  combined  with  a  burning  love  to  God  and  Christ 
and  to  his  brother  man.  There  has  been  no  man  in 
Scotland  for  several  years  so  many-sided.  He  was 
widely  read  in  men  as  well  as  in  books,  for  he  had 
travelled  extensively  in  Europe  and  America,  and  had 
the  power  of  attracting  confidences. 

From  a  biographical  notice  in  the  Scotsman  news- 
paper on  the  day  following  the  announcement  of  his 
death  we  glean  some  interesting  facts  : — 

"  John  Tulloch  was  born  near  the  Bridge  of  Earn,  in 


322  PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH, 

Perthshire,  in  1823.  His  early  education  was  obtained 
in  Perth,  and  at  the  Madras  College,  St.  Andrews,  from 
which,  in  1837,  at  the  early  age  of  14,  he  passed  into 
the  University  of  the  ancient  city  with  which  his  lot 
in  life  was  afterwards  to  be  so  intimately  associated. 
In  Greek,  moral  philosophy,  mathematics,  and  natural 
philosophy  he  particularly  distinguished  himself,  and 
in  passing  out  of  the  Arts  classes  he  won  the  Grey 
prize  for  an  essay  on  the  'Eoman  Senate.'  He  was 
much  esteemed  by  his  fellow-students ;  and  in  the 
debating  society,  in  which  he  took  an  active  interest, 
he  was  always  sunny  and  genial.  After  he  had  taken 
a  part  of  his  Divinity  classes  at  St.  Mary's  College  he 
came  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  finished  his  course  and 
was  licensed  by  the  Perth  Presbytery  in  1 844  at  the 
age  of  21.  His  first  appointment  was  as  assistant  to 
Dr.  M'Lauchlan,  Dundee,  and  so  well  did  he  acquit 
himself  that  in  a  couple  of  months  he  was  presented  to 
the  Parish  Church  of  Arbroath,  which,  however,  he  saw 
fit  to  decline.  In  the  beginning  of  1845  ^^  became 
minister  of  St.  Paul's,  Dundee,  where  he  remained  until 
1 849,  when  he  was  transferred  to  the  parish  of  Kettins, 
a  rural  living  in  the  south-western  district  of  Forfar- 
shire. Even  at  that  early  period  of  his  career  Mr. 
Tulloch's  thoughtful  style  in  the  pulpit  marked  him 
out  as  a  man  likely  to  rise  in  the  Church.  A  casual 
hearer  who  listened  to  one  of  his  expositions  of  the 
23rd  Psalm,  more  than  forty  years  ago,  was  struck  by 
the  peculiar  grace  and  dignity  of  his  language,  and  the 
elegant  tone  of   thought   which  pervaded  it — a  style 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH.  323 

unusual  in  the  somewhat  dry  and  metaphysical  pulpit 
utterances  too  current  at  that  time.  Wliile  in  Dundee 
the  young  minister,  though  possessing  a  vigorous 
physique,  worked  so  hard  in  his  parish,  and  lectured 
and  wrote  so  much,  that  his  health  suffered,  and  he 
was  compelled  to  seek  rest  in  Germany.  A  long 
summer  holiday  there  he  spent  in  characteristic  fashion 
in  accjuiring  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  language,  and 
in  making  himself  master  of  the  speculative  theology 
of  that  country — a  knowledge  which  was  of  immense 
importance  to  him  in  after  life.  It  was  while  in  Dundee 
that  he  married — his  wife  being  Miss  Hindmarsh,  whose 
father  had  been  a  teaclier  of  English  in  Perth. 

"His  residence  at  Kettins,  away  from  the  noise  of 
busy  streets  and  the  restless  life  of  a  large  city,  was 
greatly  appreciated  by  him.  A  writer  thus  describes 
the  village  or  hamlet  of  Kettins,  lying  at  the  foot  of  the 
Sidlaw  Hills,  in  the  pleasant  valley  of  Strathmore : — 
'Tew  Scottish  villages  surpass  it  in  simple  rustic 
beauty.  The  dwellings  of  the  cottagers  cluster  round 
the  old-fashioned  church  and  manse  or  peep  out  among 
the  elms  or  ash  trees  which  overshadow  the  roads  and 
surround  the  village  green.  Most  of  them  are  covered 
with  v/oodbine  and  other  climbers,  and  have  gardens 
around  them  bright  with  flowers.'  Here  he  passed  six 
precious  years  of  his  life — laying  in  a  renewed  stock  of 
health,  and  spending  the  time  not  required  in  the  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  rural  dean  of  this  delightful 
spot  with  his  books,  in  the  congenial  society  of  the 
master  minds  of  literature,  theology,  and  philosophy. 


324  PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 

"  In  1854,  it  was  announced  tliat  Mr.  Tulloch  had  been 
presented  by  the  Crown  to  the  Principalship  of  St. 
Mary's  College,  in  succession  to  Dr.  Eobert  Haldane. 
The  appointment  seems  to  have  come  upon  the  Church 
with  something  like  surprise,  and  to  have  caused  not  a 
little  discontent  among  older  theologians  v/ho  were  at 
that  time  better  known  than  this  young  minister  of  a 
country  parish." 

He  was  little  more  than  a  youth  when  he  was 
appointed  to  the  Chair  of  Theology  in  St.  Andrews. 
Beyond  one  or  two  reviews,  notably  one  on  the  "  Hip- 
polytus  of  Bunsen,"  he  had  done  little  in  literature. 
But  Bunsen  had  been  charmed  by  his  review,  and 
wrote  strongly  in  favour  of  its  author  to  Lord  Palmer- 
ston.  The  credit  of  Tulloch's  appointment  belongs,  how- 
ever, to  Lord  Palmerston  himself,  who,  it  is  said,  was 
so  struck  by  what  he  saw  of  Tulloch  during  an  evening 
spent  with  him  in  a  country-house,  that  he  said  to  their 
host,  "  Why  should  we  not  appoint  this  young  minister 
to  the  vacant  Chair  ? "  It  was  not  lono;  before  Tulloch 
abundantly  vindicated  his  choice.  Perhaps  the  ablest 
of  all  his  works  was  published  in  the  following  year,  and 
from  that  date  till  his  death  his  literary  labours  were 
incessant.  To  the  disgrace  of  Government  many  of 
the  Chairs  in  our  Universities  are  kept  at  starvation 
allowance.  Tulloch's  Chair  was  miserably  endowed, 
and  he  was  accordingly  forced,  as  much  by  circum- 
stances as  by  a  laudable  ambition,  to  slave  at  literature. 
Books,  reviews,  magazine  articles  followed  one  another 
in  swift  succession  from  his  versatile  and  always  bril- 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 


325 


iiaut  pen.     rrom  its  first  outset  he  was  a  large  con- 
tributor to  tlie  pages  of  Good  Woi'ds.     Always  graceful 


WEST   PRONT   OF   ST.    ANDREW'S   CATHEDRAL. 

and  vigorous  in  diction,  Lis  works  displayed  extra- 
ordinary aptitude.  There  is  a  wide  distance  between 
the  closely  reasoned  arguments  of  his  work  on  "  Theism  " 


326  PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH, 

or  on  "Eational  Eeligion  and  Christian  Philosopliy," 
and  his  wise  counsels  to  young  men  in  "Beginning 
Life ; "  and  when  we  reckon  how  that  distance  was 
filled  up  by  various  excursions  into  the  region  of 
history  or  of  spiritual  experience,  we  can  calculate  the 
variety  and  richness  of  his  accomplishments. 

For  many  years  his  labours,  outside  of  the  duties 
proper  to  his  Chair,  were  almost  entirely  literary,  and, 
more  than  once,  the  mental  strain  caused  by  ceaseless 
toil  so  injured  his  health  that  he  had  to  seek  rest 
abroad.  His  overwrought  brain  affected  his  nervous 
system  with  a  distress  which  those  who  have  suffered 
similarly  describe  as  being  worse  than  acute  pain. 
I  cannot  forget  the  joy  with  which  the  bright-souled 
and  good  man  greeted  my  brother,  Norman  Macleod, 
and  me  when  we  were  at  Athens  on  our  way  home 
from  a  tour  in  Palestine  in  1864.  He  was  then 
recovering  from  a  "break  down"  which  had  brought 
with  it  the  usual  accompaniment  of  nervous  weakness 
and  depression.  Among  other  happy  incidents  during 
our  stay  in  Greece,  we  made  an  excursion  together  to 
Marathon,  and  never  did  two  congenial  spirits  leap 
forth  in  more  brilliant  talk  than  did  the  two  friends 
whose  life-work  is  now  over. 

It  was  one  of  those  bright  April  days  which  in  that 
climate  out-rival  our  richest  summer  glory.  We  drove 
in  the  clear,  sunny  air  up  past  Lycobettus  and  by  the 
shallow  valley  of  the  Ilissus,  and  on  between  the  ranges 
of  Hymettus  and  Pentelicus,  by  a  road  which  was  of 
primitive  structure,  and  escorted  by  soldiers  who  repre- 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCfi.  327 

sented  law  in  a  State  where  the  traveller  ran  the  danger 
of  meeting  banditti  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  capital. 
These  conditions  gave  zest  to  our  enjoyment   of  the 
scenery — the  copses  of  chestnut  and  oak,  the  picturesque 
villages,  and    still    more    picturesque  peasantry,   the 
glimpses  of  blue  mountains,  whose  very  names  were  a 
romance,  and  the  slips  of  bluest  sea  that  looked  like 
bits  of  sky  islanded  upon  earth.     The  interchange  was 
ceaseless  of  humour  and  pathos,  of   what  was   most 
ludicrous  with  what  was  most  solemn.     We  rested  for 
an   hour   or  two   on   the  Tumulus   under  which  the 
warriors  are  buried  who  fell  in  the  immortal  struggle. 
The  traditional  tomb  of  Miltiades  was  but  a  few  yards 
off,  and  we  were  surrounded  by  the  mountains  that 
"  look  on  Marathon  "  and  on  the  wide  bay  opening  into 
the  sea,  beyond  which  arose  the  rugged  hills  of  Euboea. 
Tulloch  and  Macleod  were  at  their  best  that  day,  and 
simply  revelled  in  their  almost  boyish  enjoyment  of 
every  incident. 

In  his  later  years  Tulloch  entered  more  than  he  had 
previously  done  into  the  arena  of  active  public  life. 
He  was  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  century  a  prominent 
figure  in  the  debates  of  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  Church  of  Scotland  ;  and  his  influence  was  always 
on  the  side  of  reasonable  freedom  dominated  by 
reverence. 

The  following  passage  from  an  article  published  in 
Sunday  Talk,  for  April  1886,  gives  a  good  idea  of  the 
ecclesiastical  situation  with  which  he  had  to  deal : — 
"  The  remarkable  progress  made  of  late  years  by  the 


328  Principal  tULLOcn. 

Church — progress  in  order  and  beauty  of  worship,  pro- 
gress in  intellectual  independence,  progress  in  depth  of 
religious  life — is  hard  to  realize.  It  is  impossible  for 
an  Englishman,  and  it  is  difficult  for  a  Scotsman,  who 
cannot  carry  his  memory  back  twenty  or  twenty-five 
years,  to  understand  the  vast  change  that  has  come 
over  the  churches  and  society  North  of  the  Tweed. 
But  those  who  were  present  in  the  crowded  General 
Assembly  when  the  fierce  debates  took  place  on 
what  were  known  as  the  '  Greyfriars'  innovations,' 
can  never  forget  those  scenes,  when  every  nerve  was 
strung,  every  heart  was  eager  and  every  party 
strained  over  the  questions  of  the  use  of  a  liturgy 
and  an  organ  in  worship.  One  seems  still  to  see 
the  brief,  dignified  figure  of  Dr.  Eobert  Lee — the  arch 
innovator — as  he  stood  on  the  floor,  his  face  so  cool, 
his  clear  chiselled  features  so  acute,  his  voice  in- 
cisive and  telling,  weaving  those  speeches  unsurpassed 
for  dialectical  skill,  fertility  of  resource,  and  sarcastic 
point,  every  sentence  as  polished  and  sharp  as  a  knife. 
One  watches  the  alert  Principal  Pirie  rise  on  the  opposi- 
tion side,  with  arms  uplifted  sawing  the  air,  his  voice 
Aberdonian  and  raucous,  his  speech  rapid  in  retort  and 
nimble  in  argument,  his  face  beaming  with  benevolent 
hostility  as  he  detected  a  fault  in  his  opponents'  law, 
and  concluding  without  the  slightest  perception  of  the 
importance  of  a  principle  when  it  clashed  with  a  clause 
in  an  obscure  Act  of  Assembly.  Dr.  John  Cook  would 
join  the  debate,  bland  and  genial,  the  incarnation  of 
shrewd  common   sense   and  able  persuasiveness,  who 


Principal  tulloch.  329 

discussed  the  legality  of  novel  music  in  Presbyterian 
worship  with  the  good-natured  indifference  of  a  man 
who  never  had  been  cursed  with  a  prejudice — or  blessed 
with  an  ear.  One  remembers  so  vividly  the  tall,  stately 
form  of  Principal  Tulloch  in  the  vigour  of  youth  and 
consciousness  of  power,  who  (with  the  voice  so  rich  to 
charm  the  ear  and  so  true  to  touch  the  heart)  at  once 
lifted,  by  his  fervid  oratory,  the  debate  from  the  petti- 
ness of  the  legal  quibbles  to  the  serener  plane  of  high 
principles  of  freedom  and  of  justice,  and  inspired  the 
wliole  Assembly  with  a  loftier  spirit.  Then  after  the 
stormy  conflicts,  lasting  day  and  evening,  the  debate  is 
wound  up,  the  clock  outside  strikes  one  or  two  in  the 
morning,  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet  startles  the  quiet 
of  the  deserted  High  Street  as  members  go  home  warm 
and  wearied.  These  scenes  that  occurred  yearly  each 
May  till  the  cause  was  won  seem  now  far  oif.  The 
great  combatants  now  are  dead. 

" '  Dumb  are  those  names  erewhile  in  battle  loud; 
Dream-footed  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
They  flit  across  the  ear.' 

"It  was  not  the  freedom  to  use  an  or^an  instead  of  a 
pitch  pipe  that  was  then  disputed  and  decided,  it  was 
the  cause  of  religious  and  theological  freedom,  as  surely 
as  when  Hampden  stirred  England  in  the  seventeenth 
century  it  was  not  in  question  whether  he  should  pay 
20s.  of  ship  money,  but  whether  or  not  the  country 
should  be  free. 

"  Towards  the  end  of  the  last  century  Louis  XVI. 
asked  an  old  courtier,  who  had  seen  many  changes  in 


330  PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 

his  time,  what  struck  him  as  the  most  notable  change 
in  France.  '  Sire/  he  answered,  '  under  Louis  XIV. 
men  dared  not  speak ;  under  Louis  XV.  men  whispered, 
under  your  Majesty  they  speak  aloud/  Such  a  change 
has  come  over  Scotland :  opinion  is  open,  freedom  is 
wide,  where  before  all  was  silent  and  narrow.  To 
whom  is  due  this  increase  of  toleration,  this  advance 
at  once  of  theological  liberty  and  spiritual  interest? 
Largely  due  to  Principal  Tulloch,  who,  possessed  of 
high  standing  to  give  weight  to  his  words,  possessed 
of  deep  religious  feeling  to  give  earnestness  to  his 
opinions,  liaving  sympathy  with  every  new  light  from 
science  and  reverence  for  all  cherished  belief,  helped  to 
lead  the  Church  into  broader  channels  of  religious  life 
and  thoudit/' 

He  was  on  the  Commission  on  Education  during  its 
temporary  existence,  and  his  subsequent  appointment 
to  the  Chief  Clerkship  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the 
Church  of  Scotland,  and  his  elevation  to  the  Chair  of 
Moderator,  brought  him  into  close  contact  with  the 
business  of  the  Church.  For  the  last  few  years  of  his 
life  he  was  recognized  as  the  chief  leader,  the  most 
forcible  debater,  and  the  wisest  counsellor  tlie  Church 
possessed.  For,  although  Presbyterianism  avows  the 
principle  of  ministerial  equality,  it  can  never  refuse  to 
acknowledge  the  dominating  influence  which  supreme 
talent  or  strength  of  character  must  always  exercise. 
It  has  thus  always  one  or  two  unnamed  bishops,  who 
gain  an  authority  that  is  at  once  free  and  almost  un- 
questioned.   The  Assembly  of  the  Church  is  the  nearest 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH,  331 

tiling  to  a  parliament  which  Scotland  now  possesses, 
and  he  who  gains  the  place  of  trusted  leader  must  have 
many  rare  gifts.  Latterly  TuUoch  was  compelled  to 
champion  the  Church  in  a  warfare  that  was  uncongenial 
to  his  nature.  He  played  the  most  important  part 
among  Churchmen  in  resisting  the  movement  for  Dis- 
establishment. He  had  no  taste  for  controversy  of  this 
nature,  and  in  some  respects  his  temperament  did  not 
always  fit  him  for  its  conduct,  but  there  was  no  man  in 
the  country  who  could  have  rendered  to  the  Church 
the  service  that  Tulloch  gave.  He  had  always  been  a 
keen  politician.  During  the  time  he  was  editor  of 
Frazer's  Magazine  he  not  only  wrote  many  articles  of  a 
purely  political  character,  but  was  brought  into  close 
contact  with  the  leading  men  of  the  Liberal  party  of 
which  he  was  a  member.  He  proved  himself  an 
admirable  editor,  but  the  labour  which  fell  on  him 
when  he  had  to  conduct  a  magazine  published  in 
London,  while  he  himself  had  so  many  onerous  duties 
in  St.  Andrews,  was  more  than  his  strength  admitted, 
and  it  is  believed  that  he  never  recovered  the  ehects  of 
that  attempt. 

llie  article  above  quoted  from  the  Scotsman  news- 
paper thus  describes  his  last  days  : — 

"  He  broke  down  last  autumn,  and  was  seen  by  his 
physician,  Dr.  George  Balfour.  It  was  hoped  that  his 
illness  was  merely  the  result  of  exliaustion  and  over- 
straining of  the  nervous  energy  from  over-w^ork,  and 
that  with  absolute  rest  from  all  exertion  he  mio-ht 
gradually  recover.     He  went  then  to  Harrogate,  where 


JJ-* 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH. 


he  spent  a  few  weeks,  and  returned  to  St.  Andrews 
towards  the  end  of  November,  with  some  expectation  of 
being  able  to  resume  his  College  duties.  Before  Christ- 
mas he  was  again  compelled  to  desist,  and  he  came  to 
Edinburgh,  and  took  up  his  residence  at  the  Craig- 
lockhart  Hydropathic,  where  he  remained  until  the  2nd 
of  January,  when  he  went  to  London.  "When  in  Edin- 
burgh at  that  time  he  took  rather  a  gloomy  view  of  his 
own  condition.  He  complained  a  good  deal  of  dimness 
of  vision ;  but  in  the  company  of  friends  he  became 
more  cheerful,  and,  except  when  the  feeling  of  weakness 
overpowered  him,  his  smile  was  as  genial  and  his  laugh 
as  hearty  as  ever.  In  London,  he  consulted  Dr.  Andrew 
Clark,  and  it  was  suggested  that  he  should  winter  at 
Torquay,  the  genial  climate  of  which  had  on  a  previous 
occasion  done  him  much  good.  There  he  went  and 
resided  with  his  friend  Dr.  Hamilton  Eamsay,  the  purse- 
bearer  to  the  Lord  High  Commissioner,  who  has  been 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  him.  Principal  Tulloch 
had  a  cerebral  seizure  on  Monday  last,  and  was  seen  by 
Sir  James  Crichton  Browne,  who  regarded  his  case  as 
very  critical.  He  rallied,  however,  by  Wednesday,  and 
a  more  hopeful  view  of  his  condition  was  taken.  On 
Friday  night,  however,  the  same  symptoms  returned 
with  increased  force,  and  he  died  on  Saturday  at  twenty 
minutes  before  ten  o'clock.  The  cause  of  death  was 
cerebral  effusion,  or  what  in  popular  phraseology  is 
known  as  paralysis  of  the  brain." 

I  have  scarcely  ever  known  a  more  chivalrous  soul, 
and  his  loss  appears  irreparable  at  this  moment  to  many 


PRINCIPAL  TULLOCH.  333 

of  us  in  Scotland.  We  had  no  man  who  in  recent  years 
touched  the  national  sentiment  at  so  many  points,  or 
who  stood  forth  so  prominently  in  many  fields  of 
interest.  We  have  men  of  culture  and  men  of  action  ; 
we  have  ecclesiastics  of  many  types,  great  preachers  and 
great  leaders ;  we  have  men  of  letters  and  men  of 
administrative  capacity ;  but  we  have  no  man  who  so 
combined  all  these  gifts,  and  who  so  elevated  them  all 
by  the  nobility  of  his  character  and  his  catching  enthu- 
siasm. He  is  mourned  by  all  classes.  The  news, 
"  Tulloch  is  dead,"  came  with  the  shock  of  a  personal 
loss  to  thousands  who  had  never  even  seen  him,  but 
who  had  learned  to  love  him  and  feel  proud  of  him  for 
their  country's  sake.  Since  the  death  of  Xorman 
Macleod  no  Scottish  Churchman  enjoyed  so  mucli  of  the 
confidence  of  the  Queen,  who  has  in  many  ways,  and 
with  characteristic  graciousness,  expressed  her  sense  of 
his  loss.  He  was  not  an  old  man — only  sixty-three 
years  of  age — when  he  was  struck  down.  Bat  to  all 
who  knew  him — worn  in  health  and  wearied  in  heart 
and  brain — the  thought  that  he  is  at  rest  may  relieve 
the  grief  which  in  its  selfishness  would  dwell  more  on 
the  sadness  of  the  bereavement  to  themselves,  to  their 
church  and  country,  than  on  the  peace  that  is  now 
hi.s. 

PoNALD  Macleod. 


THE   PORT,   ST.    ANDREWS. 


JOHN     CURWEN. 


"  There's  music  in  the  sighing  of  a  reed  ; 
There's  music  in  the  gushing  of  a  rill  ; 
There's  music  in  all  things,  if  men  had  ears  : 
Their  earth  is  but  an  echo  of  the  spheres." 

Byron. 


JOHN    CURWEN. 


HETHER  the  oft-repeated  verdict  be  true  or 
not,  that  "  the  English  are  not  a  musical 
people,"  there  can  be  no  question  about 
the  progress  they  have  made  during  recent 
years  towards  a  more  widespread  use  and 
appreciation  of  the  art.  Homes,  schools, 
churches,  all  give  evidence  of  the  w^onderful  expansive- 
ness  with  which  music  is  throwino;  its  charm  over  the 
whole  area  of  common  life.  In  this  advancement  no 
one  has  played  so  important  a  part  as  John  Curwen, 
and  his  career  is  one  more  example  of  the  triumphs 
that  are  won  by  religious  devotion  and  enthusiasm.  A 
man  "  with  no  natural  advantages  of  ear  or  voice," 
quite  outside  the  circle  and  influences  that  might  lead 
to  such  work,  and  utterly  destitute  of  advantages 
or   appliances   for  carrying   it   on,  he    yet  conceived, 


33B  JOHN  CURWEN. 

developed,  and  diffused  a  reform  of  musical  education 
which  every  day  more  and  more  shows  to  be,  in  its 
way,  one  of  the  greatest  reforms  ever  accomplished, 
and  which  opens  out  to  music  possibilities  of  popular 
usefulness  hitherto  unthought  of. 

When  we  turn  to  his  life  and  try  to  trace  the  course 
of  influence  and  circumstance  by  which  lie  was  led  to 
undertake  and  carry  out  this  work,  we  find  the  secret 
of  its  force  in  his  own  intense  religious  devotion,  and 
the  growing  scope  for  its  progress  in  the  natural 
readiness  with  which  practical  religious  movements 
accepted  and  applied  the  power  that  he  offered  them. 
Tender  and  child-like  in  nature,  he  was  always  a 
special  favourite  with  children,  and  it  was  his  love  to 
them  that  first  drew  liis  attention  to  musical  reform. 
He  desired  to  make  some  of  them  sing,  "  chiefly  with 
the  design  of  making  them  love  the  Sunday-school." 
Believing  that  "  what  God  required  from  young  men 
and  maidens,  old  men  and  children,"  from  "  the  people, 
from  all  the  people,  must  be  simple  and  easy  of  attain- 
ment if  you  did  but  understand  the  way,"  he  was  led 
to  inquire  and  study.  He  soon  found  that  the  old 
methods  of  teaching  had  deceived  him  with  the  shell 
of  knowledge  instead  of  giving  him  its  kernel.  Music 
as  he  sometimes  said,  had  become  a  mystery — only  to 
be  practised  by  the  select  few  who  were  learned  in  its 
secret.  He  believed,  and  he  made  it  his  life-mission  to 
prove,  that  music  was  an  open  secret,  the  possession  of 
all  who  cared  to  use  it,  and  "  before  his  end  came  he 
had  the  rare  privilege  of  knowing   that   through  his 


JOHN  C  UR  WEN.  339 

musical  notation  the  praises  of  God  were  sung  in  more 
lands  and  in  more  tongues  than  were  represented  in 
Jerusalem  on  the  day  of  Pentecost." 

Like  many  another  useful  and  fruitful  worker,  John 
Curwen  came  from  "  the  minister's  home."  His  father, 
of  an  old  Cumberland  family,  was  an  Independent 
minister  who  laboured  usefully  in  several  parts  of 
England.  John  himself  was  born  at  Heckmondwike, 
in  Yorkshire,  November  14,  1 8 1 6.  His  mother, 
dying  wliile  he  and  his  brother  were  but  boys,  desired 
that  the  text  of  her  funeral  sermon  might  be,  "  The 
God  w^hich  fed  me  all  my  life  long  unto  this  day,  the 
angel  which  redeemed  me  from  all  evil,  bless  the 
lads."  In  early  life  the  young  man  devoted  himself  to 
be  a  preacher  of  the  gospel.  Educated  at  Coward 
College  and  University  College,  London,  he  became 
assistant  minister  at  Basingstoke  in  1838.  Here  it 
was  that  he  began  to  teach  the  children  of  his  Sunday- 
school  to  sing.  He  learnt  a  few  tunes,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  a  friend,  taught  them  to  the  children. 
"We  had  200  children  for  two  hours  twice  a  week. 
By  dint  of  loud  singing  we  carried  the  voices  of  the 
children  with  us  and  taught  theui  many  tunes.  We 
endeavoured  most  strenuously  also  to  give  them  a 
knowledge  of  crotchets  and  quavers,  flats  and  sharps, 
and  clefs,  hoping  thereby  to  give  some  permanence  to 
the  fruits  of  our  labours ;  but  this  was  in  vain." 

In  1 84 1  he  was  appointed  co-pastor  at  Stowmarket, 
in  Suffolk.  About  this  time  a  friend,  knowing  his 
anxious    interest    in    the    subject,    lent   him    a    book 


340  John  curweM. 

describing  the  system  adopted  by  Miss  Glover,  an 
accomplished  and  philanthropic  lady  with  a  thorough 
musical  education,  who  had  with  no  little  success 
endeavoured  to  popularize  music  in  the  schools  of 
Norwich.  A  first  casual  glance  over  it  led  him  to 
exclaim,  "  If  the  old  notation  is  puzzling,  I  am  sure 
this  is  more  puzzling  far,"  and  he  laid  the  book  aside. 
He,  however,  took  it  up  again,  and  by  it  was  led  to  a 
more  serious  and  careful  consideration  of  the  subject. 
He  then  understood  that  Miss  Glover's  plan  was  to 
teach  first  the  simple  and  beautiful  thing,  Music,  and 
to  delay  the  introduction  to  the  ordinary  antiquated 
mode  of  writing  it  until  the  pupil  had  obtained  a 
mastery  of  the  thing  itself.  By  giving  her  method  a 
fair  trial  on  himself,  and  on  a  little  child  who  lived  in 
the  same  house,  he  became  convinced  that  it  was  the 
most  simple  of  all — the  most  easy  to  teach,  and  the 
most  easy  to  learn.  In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  he 
found  himself  at  the  height  of  his  previous  ambition — 
able  to  "  make  out "  a  psalm  tune  from  the  notes,  and 
to  pitch  it  himself.  "  It  was  the  untying  of  the 
tongue — the  opening  of  a  new  world  of  pleasure." 

He  lost  no  time  in  visiting  the  schools  patronized  by 
Miss  Glover,  and  during  the  same  autumn,  at  a  con- 
ference of  Sunday-school  teachers  in  Hull,  where  there 
was  much  discussion  of  the  difficulties  that  prevented 
good  and  hearty  singing,  he  described  what  he  had 
seen.  His  enthusiasm  seems  to  have  roused  the  meet- 
ing, and  a  resolution  was  j)assed  charging  him  as  a 
young  man— he  was  not  yet  twenty-five — to  find  out 


JOHN  CURWEN.  341 

the  simplest  way  of  teaching  music,  and  to  get  it  into 
use.  He  seemed  very  fearful  of  the  ^vay  in  which 
such  a  duty  might  interfere  with  his  work  as  a  minister 
and  pastor.  So  jealous  was  he  of  himself  that  he  would 
not  even  learn  to  play  on  an  instrument  lest  he  should 
be  tempted  to  waste  time.  He  accepted,  however,  the 
charge  solemnly  laid  upon  him  by  his  brethren.  He 
pursued  and  developed  his  studies,  and  then  began  his 
work  of  publishing  and  lecturing.  First  came  "  The 
Little  Tune  Book  Harmonized  "  (1841),  the  profits  on 
which,  with  a  conscientiousness  very  characteristic  of 
him,  he  sent  to  Miss  Glover.  She  returned  them,  for 
she  never  had  and  "  could  not  take "  any  pecuniary 
reward  for  her  work.  So  the  young  minister  was 
forced  to  use  them,  and,  adding  some  of  his  own 
bachelor  savings,  produced  and  published  what  no 
publisher  would  venture  on,  and  what  several  printers 
refused  to  print,  "  Singing  for  Schools  and  Congrega- 
tions," the  first  text-book  of  the  new  method. 

Now  he  was  willing  to  rest  content.  He  had  begun 
the  movement,  and  others  with  more  time  and  capacity 
might  carry  it  on.  In  1844  he  removed  to  Plaistow, 
in  Essex,  where  his  congregation,  his  Sunday-schools, 
his  day-schools,  and  his  family — for  he  was  no  longer 
a  bachelor— left  little  leisure  for  musical  study.  The 
little  text-book  had,  however,  been  quietly  doing  its 
work.  Among  others,  the  Home  and  Colonial  School 
Society  had  adopted  the  system,  and  every  year  were 
sending  forth  forty  to  sixty  school  teachers  qualified 
to  extend  its  use.     Neither  had  its  author  forgotten  it* 


342  JOHN  CURWEN,    ' 

Slowly  he  had  improved  his  system  and  expanded  hig 
little  book  into  a  worthy  manual.  "  By  tliis  time,"  as 
he  himself  put  it  at  an  overflowing  meeting  in  Exeter 
Hall,  twenty-six  years  afterwards  : — 

"  My  brave  wife  had  seen  me  lay  out  all  our  united 
savings  (and  that  was  a  serious  thing  for  a  young 
Benedict  with  a  salary  of  only  £i6o  a  year)  in  paying 
for  a  big  book  slowly  written  and  slowly  stereotyped. 
It  was  the  now  old  *  Grammar  of  Vocal  Music' 
When  it  was  finished,  I  asked  her  whether  I  should 
bring  it  out  in  an  expensive  form,  so  as  to  be  repaid 
early,  or  in  a  cheap  form,  with  the  hope  of  being  repaid 
at  some  distant  period.  She  comforted  me  by  saying 
that  she  did  not  think  it  would  ever  pay,  but  she 
would  like  me  to  do  all  the  good  I  could  with  it  by 
making  it  cheap.  Tor  my  part  I  hoped  that  my  wife 
and  little  child  would  not  be  allowed  to  suffer  for  my 
love  of  music,  and  so  made  the  book  2s.  6d.  instead 
of  5s." 

Had  he  never  published  anything  else,  he  would 
have  earned  the  deepest  gratitude  of  the  singing  world  ; 
for  this  old  "  Grammar  "  did  more  to  open  the  world  of 
music  and  to  stimulate  the  pursuit  of  its  delights  among 
the  common  people  of  the  country  than  any  work  ever 
published.  To  the  anxious  toilers  in  congregational 
classes,  chapel  choirs,  night  and  day-schools,  it  seemed 
like  the  opening  of  a  window  in  the  deep  dark  of 
fruitless  effort.  Hitherto  they  had  been  shouting 
themselves  hoarse  over  the  teaching  of  a  few  tunes, 
and  sometimes  patiently  trying   what  Dr,  Stainer  so 


JOHN  CURWEN.  343 

pointedly  ridicules,  when  he  asks  his  readers  to 
"  imagine  hira  walking  into  an  elementary  school,  and 
teaching  the  children  the  transposition  of  scales,  that  E 
is  four  sharps,  a  semitone  higher  is  one  flat,  and  so  on." 
The  Titw  book  reversed  all  this.  It  spoke  of  music  in 
its  simplicity — of  the  few  notes  that  make  up  Nature's 
scale  in  their  clear  and  beautiful  relationship.  All  this 
it  made  so  clear  and  simple  that  the  youngest  scholar 
could  understand,  and  with  this  knowledge  soon  make 
his  own  way  through  hitherto  unintelligible  mazes. 
"  The  Modulator,"  the  new  simple  map  of  Tone-land, 
was  hung  up  in  many  a  rough  class-room ;  and  this 
half-crown  "  Grammar,"  with  its  small  type,  its  stiff 
boards  and  paper  cover,  is  treasured  in  many  a  teacher's 
home  as  the  first  bringer  of  the  glad  tidings  that  made 
choral  music  easy  and  enjoyable.  It  is  now  out  of 
date,  being  superseded  by  improvements  upon  itself; 
but  it  proved  the  germ  of  a  most  extensive  and  com- 
prehensive literature  on  musical  study  (in  both  nota- 
tions) which  its  author  was  destined  to  write,  and  the 
nucleus  of  a  library  providing,  for  the  merest  trifle,  all 
the  masterpieces  of  choral  music,  all  the  tr.ne-books  of 
the  different  denominations,  and  an  unrivalled  collection 
of  school  and  part-song  music. 

Meantime  the  Plaistow  siQger  wa^  being  stirred  from 
the  restful  contentment  with  which  he  had  seen  his 
work  started.  Soon  after  the  publication  of  the 
"Grammar"  came  a  letter  from  the  "Home  and 
Colonial,"  intimating  that  their  training  college  was 
passing  under  Government  hands,  and  that,  while  they 


344  JOHN  CU RIVEN, 

thought  as  highly  as  ever  of  his  method,  they  were 
obliged  to  abandon  it  in  order  to  adopt  the  old  system, 
still  patronized  by  the  Government.  Worse  than  this, 
another  training  school,  from  which  he  hoped  much, 
first  adopted  the  system,  then  set  it  to  be  taught  by 
incompetent  hands,  afterwards  mixed  it  up  with 
another  system,  and  finally  cast  it  out  as  a  thing 
rejected  after  fair  trial. 

"Fairly  tried  and  rejected — weighed  and  found 
wanting — was  that  to  go  forth  to  the  world  after  all 
my  labour  and  study — after  my  wife's  courage  in  risk- 
ing our  little  all  ?  No.  It  was  surely  my  duty  to 
prevent  that.  Minister,  as  I  was,  I  might  and  ouglit 
to  give  a  little  time  to  lecturing,  and  to  such  corre- 
spondence as  might  arise,  for  the  promotion  of  my  music 
mission.  I  did,  and  not  a  few  lectures,  conferences, 
and  Finsbury  Chapel  meetings  sprang  out  of  this  '  heavy 
blow  and  great  discouragement.'  Like  Jonah,  I  needed 
this  sudden  plunge  into  the  cold  waters  of  rejection  to 
awake  me  to  a  new  sense  of  duty — a  new  acceptance 
of  my  mission.  In  consequence  of  that  plunge  there 
came  ten  years  of  steady  work,  and  marked  success." 

It  was  in  a  little  schoolroom  in  Jewin  Street, 
London,  in  September  1850,  that  the  first  gathering 
of  Tonic  Sol-fa  friends  was  held.  A  little  collection 
of  music  just  published  was  welcomed  as  a  wonder  of 
cheapness,  and  several  tunes  were  sung  from  it^  "  one 
at  first  sight."  Next  year  appeared  the  first  number  of 
a  new  periodical,  which  could  only  promise  an  occa- 
sional  appearance — the  Tonic  Sol-fa  Ee;porter.     Three 


JOHN  CURWEN,  345 

numbers,  containing  in  all  thirty-two  small  pages,  were 
all  that  could  appear  before  the  close  of  the  year.  Now 
the  Reporter  is  issued  regularly  every  month,  with 
twenty-four  large  pages  of  music  and  intelligence.  It 
is  the  cheapest,  and,  with  one  exception,  has  the  largest 
circulation  of  all  the  musical  periodicals. 

In  1852  the  first  step  in  one  of  the  most  excellent 
parts  of  Mr.  Curwen's  movement  was  taken  in  the 
drawing  up  of  a  certificate  of  proficiency.  In  a  few 
weeks  over  100  pupils — young  and  old — had  taken 
it ;  and  afterwards  the  system  of  certificates  taken  by 
individual  examination  was  so  organized  from  the 
lowest  to  the  most  advanced  stages  of  musical  know- 
ledge, that  its  use  was  invaluable  in  the  testing  of 
progress,  the  graduating  of  classes,  and  attesting  of 
teaching  capacities.  In  Mr.  Curwen's  estimation,  these 
certificates  became  the  very  foundation  of  his  system, 
and  the  strictness  of  their  requirements  was  enforced 
by  him,  so  far  as  he  could  possibly  control  them,  with 
a  severity  that  often  irritated  laggard  students,  but 
insured  the  thoroughness  of  the  progress  made. 

In  1853  a  London  Association  was  formed,  with 
possession  of  the  certificate  as  its  condition  of 
membership,  for  promoting  by  the  new  method  music 
in  schools  and  congregations.  Large  meetings  were 
held,  aid  and  encouragement  were  given  to  schools, 
and  concentration  and  strength  to  the  efforts  of  the 
workers.  Intense  interest  was  excited  by  a  Juvenile 
Choral  Festival  in  Exeter  Hall ;  and  in  the  autumn  of 
1857  the  just  vacated  Handel  orchestra  of  the  Crystal 


346  JOHN  CUR  WEN, 

Palace  was  filled  by  3000  children,  who  drew  to  hear 
them  an  audience  of  30,000.  "  So  it  was  left,"  said 
one  of  the  newspapers  at  the  time,  "  for  an  almost 
unknown  institution  to  draw  a  larger  concourse  of 
persons  than  has  ever  been  attracted  in  this  country  to 
listen  to  a  musical  performance."  Hereby  the  move- 
ment was  raised  to  a  national  importance.  Even  the 
Times  characterized  it  .as  "the  only  national  and 
popular  system  of  teaching  vocal  music  worthy  of  the 
name."  Every  voluntary  religious  movement  in  the 
country  soon  learned  the  value  of  its  aid,  and  now 
Exeter  Hall  is  never  so  crowded  as  when  Mr. 
Proudman  presides  over  his  well-drilled  orchestra  of 
"  ragged  "  or  "  refuge  "  children,  and  every  institution 
has  for  its  gala  day  a  festival  of  song  when — thanks  to 
Mr.  Curwen's  "  cheap  and  easy  method  " — music  of  the 
best  character  is  worthily  enjoyed. 

Nor  were  these  efforts  confined  to  children  and  less 
advanced  singers.  In  1858  a  classical  concert  by 
adult  pupils  at  Exeter  Hall  made  a  considerable 
impression;  and  in  i860,  to  stimulate  the  work 
among  them,  Mr.  Curwen  planned,  on  his  own 
responsibility,  a  great  choral  competition  at  the 
Crystal  Palace  (after  the  manner  of  those  so  familiar 
in  France  and  Germany).  Edinburgh,  the  West 
Piiding  of  Yorkshire,  the  Potteries,  and  Brighton,  as 
well  as  London,  sent  their  choirs.  Sir  John  Goss  and 
Mr.  Turle  were  among  the  Judges,  and,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  the  Yorkshire  voices  carried  off  the 
highest  honours.     For  two  years  more  the  enterprise 


JOHN  CUR  WEN.  347 

was  continued,  ending  with  a  combined  performance  of 
Israel  in  J^gypt^  and  then  abandoned  in  favour  of 
greater  attention  to  the  education  of  teachers,  the 
promoting  of  psahnody  classes,  and  work  of  a  similarly 
useful  character.  The  success  of  Sol-fa  choirs  did  not, 
however,  cease. 

In  1867  the  "Paris"  choir  of  the  Tonic  Sol-fa 
Association — the  first  to  leave  our  island  shores 
seeking  a  recognition  of  English  musicality  among 
continental  nations — not  only  surprised  the  singers  of 
Paris  by  declining  to  take  part  in  a  united  concert  on 
Sunday,  but  by  the  purity  and  delicacy  of  their  singing 
excited  a  perfect  furore  of  favour.  The  presence  of 
ladies'  voices,  breaking  one  of  the  competition  con- 
ditions, permitted  them  to  gain  only  a  specially 
provided  "  equality "  prize,  but  it  added  a  liquid 
delicacy  and  brightness  to  their  singing  that  created 
the  utmost  enthusiasm  wherever  they  went ;  and  on 
their  return,  Mr.  (now  Sir  George)  Macfarren  was  but 
one  of  the  many  who  declared  that  "  their  singing 
must  have  satisfied  everybody  of  English  capability." 
At  the  English  National  Music  Meetings,  held  some 
years  later,  when  the  great  Welsh  choir  excited  so 
much  interest  in  London,  this  "  Paris "  choir  a^ain 
distinguished  itself  by  the  delicacy,  precision,  and 
refinement  of  its  singing. 

Mr.  Macfarren,  too,  continued  to  interest  himself  in 
the  movement.  In  the  autumn  of  1867,  a  short 
anthem  from  his  pen,  "  Hear  me  when  I  call,"  specially 
written  and  printed,  was  distributed  among  the  4500 


348  JOHN  CURWEN, 

singers  from  London  evening  classes,  as  they  stood  on 
the  Crystal  Palace  orchestra,  and,  "  until  then  unseen 
by  human  eyes  save  those  of  the  writer  and  printers," 
was  read  off  at  sight  with  complete  success.  Many 
times  has  a  similar  test  been  submitted  to  since  then, 
but  this  was  the  first  on  so  large  a  scale,  and  the 
composer  was  not  slow  to  acknowledge  himself  "  proud 
to  have  been  concerned  in  so  admirable  a  display  of 
musical  skill."  This  success,  morever,  was  not  confined 
to  the  concert-hall.  Sol-fa  students  were  at  this  time 
led  to  direct  their  attention  to  the  Society  of  Aits 
Examinations  in  Musical  Theory,  and  here,  hampered 
by  the  necessity  of  presenting  all  papers  in  the  "  old  " 
notation,  they,  during  five  years  (i  867-1  872),  carried 
off  ten  of  the  thirteen  prizes  granted,  and  nearly  two- 
thirds  of  the  certificates. 

Some  time  before,  a  severe  calamity  had  fallen  on 
Mr.  Cur  wen  himself,  one  which  grieved  him  sorely,' 
but  which,  in  the  end,  proved  another  thrusting  forth 
of  his  life  into  the  mission  for  music.  The  work  which 
he  already  had  been  almost  forced  to  undertake,  when 
added  to  his  ministerial  work,  with  a  simultaneous 
church-building  enterprise,  proved  too  much  for  his 
strength.  He  was  forced  to  accept  that,  perhaps, 
sorest  trial  of  all  to  a  busy  life,  entire  cessation  from 
work. 

"  Bodily  and  mental  forces  failed  me.  For  several 
years  I  felt  this  humiliation — I  thought  myself  like 
Xebuchadnezzar  sent  out  to  eat  grass  with  the  beasts 
of  the  field.     I  wrote  no  books  and  could  not  preach 


JOHN  CUR  WEN.  349 

without  trial  to  myself  and  greater  trial  to  others. 
What  was  I  to  do  ?  With  the  help  of  my  wife's 
property,  and  the  profits  which,  after  twenty  years,  the 
Sol-fa  publications  were  bringing  in,  I  was  able  to 
live.  But  it  was  a  poor  life  merely  to  live  and  do 
nothing.  Well,  I  could  not  give  lectures — I  could  not 
write  books — for  a  long  time  I  could  scarcely  write  a 
letter — but  I  could  look  after  machinery,  look  after  the 
details  of  printing,  stereotyping,  and  binding,  and  so  in 
this  dark  season  of  my  eclipse  I  took  to  business.  I 
have  sometimes  been  blamed  for  this  by  those  wdio 
think  that  '  once  a  minister  always  a  minister.'  .... 
But  a  man  must  serve  as  he  can.  If  he  is  shut  out 
from  the  higher  offices  he  must  be  glad  to  take  a 
humbler  post." 

The  new  course  was  pursued  with  the  same  con- 
scientious attention  as  everything  else  he  undertook. 
Men  of  genius  are  too  often  superior  to  mere  business 
precautions  and  responsibilities.  Xot  so  John  Ciu^wen. 
The  business  was  built  up  with  the  same  care  and 
patience  as  the  musical  reform,  and  by-and-by  became 
one  of  the  greatest  levers  for  its  advancement.  Many 
excellent  and  valuable  works  were  issued  from  its 
press,  and  its  staff  formed  a  little  band  whose  daily 
correspondence  stimulated  and  increased  the  progressive 
zeal  of  the  work.  Having  gradually  recovered  his 
strength,  he  was  in  1S66  persuaded  to  accept  the 
office  of  ''Euing  Lecturer  on  Music"  at  Anderson's 
College,  Glasgow,  and  once  more  entered  on  active  work. 
He  soon  found  that  the  Scotch  students  wanted  some- 


3SO  JOHN  CURWEN. 

tiling  to  do.  They  wanted  a  text-book  and  exercises  on 
composition ;  so  he  was  led  to  adventure  on  further 
work.  Eminent  musicians  were  not  slow  to  advise,  and 
his  own  patient,  persevering  studies  were  continued. 
"  These  grew  into  large  books,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
take  my   time  in    getting    them    through    the  press, 


ANDERSON'S  COLLEGE,   GLASGOW. 

because  they  were  costly.  They  have,  however, 
proved  profitable  in  the  sense  of  being  useful."  Even 
those  whose  early  prepossessions  are  hostile  to  the 
method  admire  his  higher  text-books,  and  acknowledge 
their  success. 

A  still  more  important   advance  was  now  gained. 
Popular  education  took  its  rise  with  voluntary  efforts. 


JOHN  CURWEN.  351 

When  these  had  developed  it  into  importance,  the 
Government  acknowledgjed  and  aided  it.  So  it  was 
with  popular  music  teaching.  In  1869  music  was 
accepted  as  an  extra  subject  by  the  Committee  of 
Council.  A  deputation  immediately  waited  on  Mr. 
Forster  and  explained  what  Tonic  Sol-fa  had  done  in 
Sunday  and  Eagged-schools,  in  Bands  of  Hope,  re- 
formatories, and  elsewhere.  A  few  months  afterwards 
the  method  was  officially  placed  "  upon  the  same  terms 
as  shall  from  time  to  time  be  applicable  to  the  ordinary 
method  and  notation."  Thus  was  the  movement 
placed  on  a  new  vantage-ground.  Fourteen  thousand 
schools  were  under  Government  inspection,  and  in  the 
preceding  year  but  one  had  earned  the  grant  for  music. 
School  Boards  were  just  taking  their  rise,  and  although, 
for  the  time,  it  was  difficult  to  gain  a  hearing  for  so 
trifling  a  matter  as  music,  the  juncture  was  one  of  no 
little  importance.  Subscriptions  were  soon  raised, 
whereby  a  Modulator  and  Instruction  Book  were  sent 
to  every  teacher,  and  in  the  year  ending  March  1 8  7 1 , 
forty  -  three  schools  obtained  the  grant.  English 
methods  are  slow  to  change,  and  out  of  14,000 
schools  forty-three  were  not  many,  but,  compared  with 
the  om  of  eighteen  months  before,  the  advance  was 
wonderful ;  so  now  there  were  hopeful  prospects  of 
steady  and  enduring  progress. 

On  this  rising  success  the  news  came  like  a  thunder- 
clap that  in  the  New  Code  music  was  withdrawn  from 
the  list  of  "  extra  subjects."  The  inspectors  were 
unable  to  examine  in    the   subject,  and  so   the  very 


352  JOHN  CURWEN. 

success  of  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  method  became  its  greatest 
obstacle.      When    only    one    school    presented    itself 
inspectors  did  not  complain.      Now  that   the  number 
was  being  multiplied  by  forty-three  tliey  rebelled.     A 
deputation  to  the  Education  Office  was  soon  organized. 
It  was  music  itself   that   was  threatened,  and   not  a 
mere  notation.     Not  in  vain,  therefore,  did  a  friendly 
M.P.  appeal  to  Mr.   Forster,  that  he  might  not  hand 
down  his  name  as  "  the  man  who  would  not  give  the 
children   music."     A  compromise   was   arranged,   and 
IS.  per  head   of   the  grant  to  every  school  was   made 
dependent  on  the  inspector  reporting  that  vocal  music 
formed  a  part  of  the  ordinary  course  of   instruction. 
The    requirement   was    one    easily  met,  and   did   not 
necessarily  imply  any    great  advance    in    instruction, 
but    still   it    secured    the  retaining  of   music    in    the 
schools,  and  so   left   the  door   open   for  further  work. 
It  certainly  was  not  all  that  Mr.  Curwen  desired,  but 
undoubtedly,  as  stated  by  a  leading  musical  journal  at 
the  time,  "  Had   he  and  his  friends  been  non-existent 
or  inactive  the  result  would  have  been  very  different." 
The  new   provision  soon    proved    to   be  rousing    the 
schools  in  a  remarkable  way.     An  advertisement  in 
the  National  Society  s  Painr  brought  Mr.  Curwen  more 
than  five  hundred  letters  from  school  teachers  anxious 
for   advice.     They  had    learned    the    Hullah    system, 
but  "  despaired  of  teaching  it  to  children."     Many  a 
country  vicar  and  teacher   at   this   time   repeated  the 
experience  of  Dr.  Stainer  : — 

"  As  to  his  first  connection  with  the  system,  he  saw 


JOHN  CUR  WEN.  353 

its  effects  upon  clioir  boys,  and  he  began  to  say  to 
himself,  '  Why  should  I  teach  these  boys  a  whole 
system  of  scales  when  all  they  want  as  singers  is  one 
scale  ? '  A  clergyman  came  to  him  soon  after,  saying, 
*  How  shall  I  teach  my  choir  ? '  and  he  replied,  '  Try 
the  Tonic  Sol-fa.'  His  friend  laughed  at  the  idea,  but 
nevertheless  he  tried  it,  and  came  back  delighted.  He 
had  learnt  the  system,  and  taught  it  at  the  same  time 
to  the  village  boys  who  formed  his  choir,  and  no"w  they 
were  singing  hymn  tunes  at  sight." 

Soon  the  School  Boards  were  at  work,  and  with 
them  went  the  progress  of  Tonic  Sol-fa.  Every  large 
town  of  England  has  now  its  School  Board,  in  whose 
schools,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  Mr.  Curwen's 
system  has  been  adopted  with  the  most  gratifying 
results.  In  Scotland  School  Boards  are  universal,  and 
there  also  music  in  the  schools  has  made  corresponding 
progress.  Ten  years  after  that  in  which  only  one  school 
had  earned  the  music  grant,  a  return  on  the  subject  to 
the  Education  Department  (August  1879)  ^^^^^  ^  ^^^Y 
different  tale.  To  take  Scotland  first,  out  of  over 
3000  schools  less  than  one-half  teach  music  by  ear; 
more  than  that  number  teach  it  on  the  Tonic  Sol-fa 
metliod,  and  of  the  rest  twelve  use  Mr.  Hullah's 
system,  and  about  100  other  methods.  In  England, 
the  results  are  in  themselves  less  satisfactory  ;  yet, 
remembering  the  one  school  of  1869,  the  progress  is 
marvellous.  Over  21,000  teach  by  ear  only,  2,300 
use  Tonic  Sol-fa,  600  Mr.  Hullah's  system,  and  600 
other  methods. 

Z 


^54  JOHN  C'URWEI^, 

These  figures  are,  perhaps,  not  very  interesting  in 
themselves,  and  one  naturally  turns  to  the  inspectors' 
comments.  During  the  few  preceding  years  more  than 
twenty  of  them  had  borne  testimony  to  the  value  of 
the  Sol-fa  system,  especially  in  its  moral  and  social 
results.  One  of  the  best  known  (the  Eev.  W.  J. 
Kennedy)  "  cannot  adequately  express  how  great  is  its 
success,  and  what  a  charming  revolution  it,  and  it 
alone,  has  brought  about ; "  while  from  the  far  North 
Mr.  Jolly  writes :  "  The  manner  in  which  very  young 
children  can  be  made  to  read  music  in  a  short  time, 
with  all  the  ease  of  a  common  reading-book,  I  have 
abundantly  witnessed.  It  deserves  the  best  thanks  of 
the  country  for  the  improvement  already  effected." 
Yet  all  this  time  the  Government  had  been  pursuing 
the  most  extraordinary  policy  towards  this  expansion 
of  popular  music.  In  1869  Mr.  Forster  acknowledged 
the  value  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  for  educational  purposes.  In 
1 87 1,  by  the  zeal  of  its  friends,  he  was  saved  from  a 
fatal  blunder.  Yet  immediately,  instead  of  providing 
means  whereby  its  progress  could  be  fairly  encouraged 
and  justly  tested,  he  appointed  as  Inspector  of  Music 
in  Training  Colleges,  the  man  conspicuous  among  English 
musicians  for  his  inveterate  hostility  to  the  system. 
Mr.  Hullah  was  a  gentleman  of  undoubted  refinement, 
and  a  musician  of  much  ability,  but  he  was  best 
known  as  the  apostle  of  a  system  of  musical  education 
which  had  proved  a  conspicuous  failure.  His  books 
were  first  issued  nearly  forty  years  before  from  the 
Government  Stationery  Office.     During  the  interval  he 


JOHN  CUR  WEN.  355 

had  had  all  the  prestige  which  official  sanction  and 
wealthy  patronage  could  give.  And  now  his  practical 
command  of  all  the  Training  Colleges  of  the  country 
gives  his  system  an  advantage  which  it  seems  im- 
possible to  exaggerate.  Still,  seven  years  afterwards, 
only  twelve  schools  in  Scotland,  and  600  in  England, 
are  reported  as  using  it. 

To  this  appointment  Mr.  Curwen  objected  with  all 
the  vigour  of  which  he  was  capable.  At  ordinary 
times  he  was  one  of  the  gentlest  of  men.  Wlien 
roused  he  became  a  veritable  Boanerges.  Mr.  HuUah's 
appointment  was,  of  course,  confirmed.  He  was,  as  he 
himself  put  it,  "  a  judge  of  results,"  not  of  methods, 
with  all  the  responsibilities  attached  to  that  office. 
When,  however,  he  made  his  report  in  the  Education 
Blue  Book  of  1872—3,  the  vehicle  for  a  real  attack  on 
the  Tonic  Sol-fa  method,  Mr.  Curwen  came  forth  with 
an  answer  that  was  unsparing  in  its  opposition,  and 
certainly  seemed  overwhelming  in  its  details.  Fears 
were  entertained  by  his  friends  that  its  warmth  might 
be  mistaken  for  personal  animus.  That  risk,  however, 
he  was  willing  to  run,  and  how  untrue  the  accusation 
would  have  been  is  conjQrmed  by  one  of  the  last  para- 
graphs from  his  pen,  when,  hearing  that  Mr.  Hullah 
was  ill,  he  wrote  : — - 

"  Although  our  '  movement '  has  suffered  seriously 
through  his  opposition,  and  we  have  several  times  had 
to  reply  to  him,  we  have  never  been  moved  by  any  sort 
of  personal  animosity,  and  have  never  thought  him 
moved  by  anything  worse  than  a  strong  and  rare  pro- 


356  JOH]^  CUkWEN. 

fessional  prejudice.  We  shall  gladly  hear  of  his 
sjDeedy  recovery,  and  welcome  him  back  again  to  his 
own  proper  sphere  of  usefulness  in  the  promotion  of 
music  among  the  people." 

It  was  zeal  for  music  that  moved  Curwen  to  oppose 
Mr.  Hullah,  and  not  merely  devotion  to  his  own  method 
— that  he  would  willingly  forego  for  a  more  efficient 
instrument. 

"  Those,"  said  he,  "  who  have  known  me  longest 
have  found  me  ever  ready  to  adopt  improvements,  have 
sometimes  been  a  little  annoyed  by  my  doing  so — well, 
I  promise  you  that  whenever  a  better  method  of  teach- 
ing the  people  of  England  to  sing  is  discovered  than 
that  which  I  got  from  Miss  Glover,  I  \^ill  adopt  it. 
My  brother-in-law,  who  had  a  cotton  factory,  long  ago 
taught  me  that  it  always  answered  to  use  the  best 
machinery.  When  a  better  loom  was  invented,  he 
turned  the  old  ones  out  and  installed  the  new,  I 
should  never  have  won  ....  if  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  method 
merely  or  the  sale  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  books  had  been  my 
object  in  life.  My  object  is  to  make  the  people  of  this 
country  and  their  children  sing,  and  to  make  them  sing 
for  noble  ends." 

His  reply  failed  in  its  immediate  object,  for  the 
Training  Schools  of  the  country  remained  for  years 
under  the  same  regulations.  Year  after  year  the 
questions  set  to  the  Tonic  Sol-fa — if  not,  indeed,  to 
all — musical  students  were  mere  puzzles,  tests  of  how 
well  the  students  had  been  crammed,  but  as  aids  to 
teaching    efficiency,  almost    valueless.      The    struggle 


JOHN    CURWEN. 
Frovi  a  Photograph  by  J.  W.  Thomas,  Hastings. 


JOHN  CURWEN.  359 

however,  was  a  fresh  appeal  to  the  people,  and  letters 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  showed  how  great  had 
been  its  success. 

Some  years  before,  Mr.  Curwen  had  organized  a 
Tonic  Sol-fa  College,  in  wliich  membership  was  obtained 
by  a  severe  examination,  and  whose  council  of  manage- 
ment was  yearly  elected  by  the  members — a  fixed 
number  beinc^  chosen  from  different  walks  in  life 
(clerks  and  other  assistants  in  business,  masters  in 
business,  school-teachers,  professional  teachers  of  music, 
ministers  of  religion,  other  holders  of  the  advanced 
certificate),  that  no  one  set  of  men  might  ever  get  the 
upper-hand  in  the  institution.  Soon  after  the  contro- 
versy over  the  Government  Training  Colleges,  this 
institution  was  publicly  incorporated,  and  thereby  a 
great  stimulus  was  given  to  its  work.  Tliis  had  hitherto 
been  confined  to  the  granting  of  certificates,  conducting 
of  instruction  by  post,  and  holding  occasional  short 
sessions  for  conference.  A  six  weeks'  term  of  study 
was  nov/  arranged,  and  the  students  met  for  the  first 
time  at  Plaistow,  in  the  summer  of  1876.  Scholar- 
ships were  provided  by  friends.  The  art  of  teaching, 
precenting,  voice-training,  and  the  like  were  among  the 
subjects  of  study.  Over  thirty  students  came  from 
different  parts  of  the  country,  most,  if  not  all,  of  them 
being  practical  teachers,  who  could  immediately  utilize 
the  results  of  their  labour.  These  classes  have  been 
continued  every  summer  since,  with  occasionally  special 
winter  evening  classes  for  London,  and  thus  the  ex- 
clusive policy  of  the  Education  Department  was  largely 


300  JOHN  CURWEN, 

counteractecl.  A  large  number  of  the  summer  students 
have  come  from  Scotland,  and  to  their  work  no  doubt 
is  due  much  of  the  progress  musical  education  has 
made  in  the  common  schools  there.  If,  as  Mr.  ]\Iun- 
della  believes,  Scotland  is  educationally  to-day  what 
England  will  be  to-morrow,  this  progress  is  still  more 
encouraging. 

Having  provided  students,  professors,  and  scholar- 
ships, Mr.  Curwen  next  sought  for  a  building.  In  this 
enterprise  he  proceeded  with  his  customary  care  and 
wisdom.  First  and  foremost  there  was  to  be  no  debt ; 
money  must  be  got  before  it  could  be  spent.  A  central 
position  was  desirable,  but  equally  so  was  the  nearness 
of  cheap  and  comfortable  lodgings.  A  suitable  site 
was  found  at  Forest  Gate,  within  a  few  minutes'  ride 
of  the  City.  The  freehold  was  purchased,  a  design  for 
large  and  attractive  buildings  was  approved,  bazaars, 
concerts,  &c.,  were  held,  and  on  July  5,  1879,  the  east 
wing  of  this  "  School  of  Music  for  the  People "  was 
opened  by  the  late  Earl  of  Kintore.  There,  besides 
commodious  class-rooms,  are  the  offices  of  the  college, 
from  which  the  whole  movement  is  now  controlled. 

In  January  1880,  Mr.  Curwen  was  bereaved  of  the 
wife  who  so  long  had  been  the  beloved  counsellor  of 
his  life.  Thereafter  his  health  gravely  declined,  and 
all  who  saw  him  remarked  that  he  was  sensibly  aged 
and  enfeebled.  His  active  work  was  done,  and  idle- 
ness sometimes  made  him  despond.  In  April,  he 
remarked  to  a  dear  friend,  "  It  is  a  long  time  now 
since  I  have   done  any  work,  and   I  do  not  wish  to 


JOHN  CURWEN,  361 

prolong  my  life  if  I  cannot  work."  Still,  his  bright 
face  and  merry  laugh  cheered  his  friends.  In  May  he 
was  summoned  to  Manchester  by  the  illness  of  a 
relative.  There  he  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  died 
on  May  26.  The  day  before  he  was  taken  ill  he  had 
mingled  with  a  gathering  of  Sunday-school  children, 
looking  into  their  young  faces  with  his  peculiarly  sweet 
smile,  and  encouraging  their  song  by  beating  time  with 
his  book.  This  was  one  of  his  last  acts  ;  and  it  was  an 
appropriate  close  to  a  life-work  whose  key-note  had 
been  struck  in  love  to  children.  Sorrowing  friends 
buried  him  at  Ilford,  near  London.  Dr.  Kennedy,  of 
Stepney,  in  his  funeral  sermon,  truly  said,  "  If  the  votes 
of  a  million  children  could  prevail,  they  would  award 
him  a  final  resting-place  among  the  most  worthy 
benefactors  of  mankind  in  Westminster  Abbey." 

Yet  it  was  meet  that  he  should  rest  among  his  own 
people.  He  had  not  sought  public  work ;  he  had  been 
thrust  into  it.  The  solemn  charge  laid  upon  him  by 
Nonconformist  brethren  had  been  fulfilled.  He  had 
found  "the  simplest  way  of  teaching  music,"  and  he 
had  got  it  into  use.  Now  that  his  work  transcended 
denominational  bounds,  and  had  taken  its  place  among 
great  public  movements,  he  returned  to  his  own. 
Nonconformist  ministers  fittingly  conducted  the  ser- 
vices at  his  grave,  but  around  them  were  men  of  the 
most  diverse  ranks  and  creeds,  and  to  them  the  carry- 
ing on  of  his  public  work  belonged. 

Starting  with  a  Congregational  minister's  earnest 
desire   to   improve  the   singing  of  his  Sunday-school, 


362  JOHN  CURWEN, 

Sol-fa  lias  now  attained  a  more  tlian  national  import- 
ance. Its  use  is  not  confined  to  Nonconformists  nor 
even  Protestants.  In  the  large  schools  of  the  Jews  at 
Spitalfields  and  elsewhere,  and  among  the  Christian 
Brothers  of  Ireland,  its  value  has  long  been  recognized. 
Beyond  our  borders  emigrant  and  missionary  have 
carried  it  far  and  wide.  Dr.  W.  H.  Paissell,  describing 
a  recent  visit  to  a  Zulu  mission  station,  tells  how  at 
dinner  grace  was  sung  by  the  native  choir. 

"  In  perfect  tune,  and  with  the  utmost  precision  as 
to  time,  the  four-part  harmony,  unaccompanied  by  any 
kind  of  instrument,  swells  through  the  room.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  crispness  in  their  singing,  and  an  attention 
to  rests  and  pauses  which  might  serve  as  a  most  useful 
example  to  village  choirs  of  far  greater  pretensions  in 

England The   system    upon  which  tliey   have 

been  taught  is  the  Tonic  Sol-fa,  and  tlie  result  might 
most  justifiably  be  quoted  as  a  triumph." 

In  response  to  an  application  for  some  particulars 
of  its  progress  up  to  the  Jubilee  year  of  Queen  Victoria, 
Mr.  J.  Spencer  Curwen,  who  succeeded  his  father  as 
President  of  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  College,  wrote  thus: 
"  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  give  any  precise  informa- 
tion as  to  the  extent  to  which  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  system 
is  at  present  used.  It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that 
the  fruits  of  the  labours  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  teachers  are 
two-fold :  they  make  singers  who  continue  to  sing 
from  the  letter  notation,  and  to  an  enormous  extent 
they  train  singers  who  pass  into  the  ranks  of  the  old 
notationists.     This  last  fact  is  now  well  understood  by 


JOHN  CUR  WEN,  363 

the  leading  choir-masters  of  the  country.  Mr.  Ebenezer 
Prout  says  that  '  Tonic  Sol-faists  make  the  safest  and 
surest  readers  of  the  old  notation.'  Mr.  Stockley,- 
choir-master  of  the  Birmingham  Musical  Festival, 
says :  '  I  get  the  best  readers  for  my  societies  from 
students  of  the  Tonic  Sol-fa  system.'  Such  expressions 
of  opinion  might  be  indefinitely  multiplied.  As  to  the 
direct  work  done  by  Tonic  Sol-fa  teachers  the  most 
imposing  results  are  in  the  elementary  schools.  The 
latest  Government  returns  show  that  between  12,000 
and  13,000  schools  in  England,  Wales,  and  Scotland 
employ  Tonic  Sol-fa,  as  against  2000  which  employ 
the  staff  notation,  and  17,000  which  sing  by  ear. 
The  system  is  being  taught  in  almost  every  training 
college  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  It  is  spreading 
rapidly  in  Canada,  two  professional  teachers  having 
been  sent  out  there  during  the  past  year.  In  New 
South  Wales  it  has  been  adopted  in  the  schools  for 
twenty  years.  Missionaries  are  employing  it  in  India, 
China,  South  Africa^  Madagascar.  The  philanthropic 
agencies  at  home  use  it  exclusively ;  every  year  the 
orchestra  at  Exeter  Hall  is  filled  many  times  over  with 
children  from  refuges,  reformatories,  training  ships,  &c., 
who  sing  by  its  means.  Nor  is  Tonic  Sol-fa  confined 
to  simple  music.  Several  Sol-faists  have  been  elected 
to  scholarships  at  the  Eoyal  College  of  Music,  have 
taken  music  degrees  at  the  Universities,  and  are 
winning  popular  applause  as  concert  singers.  The 
prejudice  of  the  musical  profession  is  rapidly  giving 
way.     Among  those  who  have  declared  themselves  in 


364  JOHN  CUR  WEN, 

favour  of  the  system  are  ]\fr.  Barnby,  Dr.  Stainer,  Sir 
Eobert  Stewart,  Mr.  Ebenezer  Prout,  ]\Ir.  Henry  Leslie, 
Mr.  Carl  Eosa,  Sir  George  Elvey,  Mr.  Eandegger,  the 
late  Mr.  Brinley  Eichards,  and  musical  scientists  like 
Professor  Helmholtz,  of  Berlin,  Lord  Eayleigh,  IMr. 
A.  J.  Ellis,  F.E.S,  and  Mr.  Sedley  Taylor.  Mr. 
Curwen  asserted  no  monopoly  in  the  Tonic  Sol-fa 
notation ;  he  invited  all  persons  freely  to  use  it ;  and 
although  for  many  years  few  ventured  to  do  so,  the 
annual  issue  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  literature  by  Church 
publishers,  music  houses,  and  various  agencies  is 
voluminous.  The  leading  hymn  tune  and  chant  books 
of  all  bodies  from  Eoman  Catholics  to  Unitarians  are 
issued  in  letters,  and  every  music  printer  in  the  three 
kingdoms  now  possesses  a  fount  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  type 
for  striking  off  copies  to  meet  the  demand  of  Sunday 
and  day  school  festivals,  choral  societies  and  glee  clubs. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  the  national  ear  for  music  has 
vastly  improved  during  the  last  twenty  years,  and  this 
must  be  largely  due  to  the  tuning  process  that  has 
gone  on  under  Tonic  Sol-fa  teachers." 

One  promising  department  of  work  we  must  briefly 
refer  to.  It  is  part-singing  by  men.  Can  anything 
more  monotonous  be  conceived  than  the  usual  efforts 
of  English  men,  whether  at  church  or  holiday  gathering, 
to  join  in  choral  singing  ?  Yet  there  is  scarcely  a  town- 
or  village  of  the  Continent  that  has  not  its  men's  choir, 
who  constantly  delight  themselves  and  all  who  hear 
them  with  their  exquisite  renderings  of  good  choral 
music.     Mr.  Curwen's  attention  was  long  ago   turned 


JOHN  CUR  WEN.  365 

in  this  direction.  Several  volumes  of  such  music  have 
been  issued,  and  special  attention  is  given  in  his  text- 
books to  the  training  and  classification  of  men's  voices. 
Of  course,  until  the  children  now  being  taught  have 
grown  up,  progress  cannot  be  very  rapid.  Still,  in 
London  and  several  other  large  towns,  and  notably  in 
Wales,  such  choirs  have  been  formed,  and  heard  by 
friendly  audiences  with  much  delight.  How  great  a 
service  such  a  movement  might  render  in  large  ware- 
houses, manufactories,  barrack-rooms,  and  the  like, 
need  only  be  suggested. 

The  great  merit  of  Tonic  Sol-fa  is  that  it  can  make 
of  all  readers  .of  music.  Literature  only  attains  its 
great  ends,  and  affords  fair  opportunities  to  that  which 
is  good,  when  all  can  read  with  ease.  Music,  too,  can 
never  be  expected  to  exercise  its  great  influences  for 
the  refinement  and  elevation  of  life  until  its  characters 
can  be  read  with  ease  by  every  one.  That  Sol-fa  can 
accomplish.  This  has  now  been  placed  beyond 
dispute,  and  this  it  is  which  gives  such  importance 
to  its  progress.  Everybody  read  music  at  sight ! 
Why,  with  this  every  religious  and  social  worker 
would  have  a  lever  placed  in  his  hands,  the  value  of 
which  could  scarcely  be  over-estimated. 

As  we  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  sketch,  it  was 
his  religious  zeal  that  first  impelled  Curwen  to  enter 
the  field  of  musical  reform,  and  more  than  anything 
else  it  was  the  claims  and  co-operations  of  religious 
workers  that  carried  forward  the  growth  of  his  move- 
ment.   This  is  indeed  what  we  might  expect.    Eeligion 


366  JOHN  CURWEN. 

has  always  been  the   root   and   strength  of  all  true 
artistic  work. 

Cut  off  from  religious  inspiration,  art  is  but  a  root- 
less flower.      Soon  its  beauty  fades  and  its  sweetness 


IS  gone. 


"  The  beauty  and  the  wonder  and  the  power, 
The  shapes  of  things,  their  colours,  light  and  shades, 

God  made  it  all ! 

—For  what  ?  " 

That  it  might  minister  its  consolations  to  every  heart : 
this  conviction  was  the  inspiration  of  John  Cur  wen's 
work  for  music.  And  when  by  his  labours  future 
generations  are  able  to  appropriate  the  ministry  of 
music  in  their  worship  and  daily  life  with  an  ease  and 
fulness  hitherto  impossible,  his  name  will  not  be  for- 
gotten. "  Poet's  Corner,"  said  Dr.  Kennedy  in  his 
funeral  sermon,  "  will  be  incomplete  without  a  tablet 
that  should  tell  to  unborn  generations  whence  that 
boon  has  come." 

Norman  J.  Eoss. 


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